


A Blessing of the Force

by lunaemoth



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Friends to Lovers, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-11-01 19:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17873516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaemoth/pseuds/lunaemoth
Summary: Obi-Wan and Padmé develop a soulbond when they first meet, which isn't exactly the best timing considering they have more pressing concerns, but a blessing of the Force can't be ignored. It's the sign of changes to come.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NB: I'm French and this hasn't been edited by a beta. If there is an issue, feel free to comment with a correction.

Padmé hadn’t noticed at first. She had been preoccupied with the invasion, surprised by the Jedi’s intervention and then focused on their escape. When she took note of the strange feeling of resonance, she first attributed it to space travel (while it wasn’t her first time, she had rarely left Naboo). She dismissed it and listened to the report of Captain Panaka on how they had managed to go through the blockade and what they planned to do from there. Visiting a planet controlled by the Hutts hardly filled her with joy, but at least they would be in neutral territory.  
  
In any case, she now had a task to attend to busy her hands and direct her energy. Cleaning R2-D2 wouldn’t be an easy task. She suspected that the dirt hid damages that only a new coat of paint could salvage. Yet, she rubbed, using the energetic movements to eliminate her frustration at her powerlessness to help her people, and letting her mind wander aimlessly for a while. Her thoughts should have been focused on what to say at the Senate, but she was distracted. There was something… She couldn’t define it.  
  
Some noise coming from the hallway distracted her. She talked with the Gungan, Jar Jar Binks, curious to find one of their elusive neighbours among them. However, when he left in his quest to find some food, Padmé was haunted again by this indefinable feeling which was rising in her and seemed to cage her heart.  
  
R2-D2 beeped questioningly. She had stopped cleaning him. She shook her head, smiling at the droid. “It’s nothing. I think…”  
  
A moment later, the feeling grew as she heard voices coming closer.  
  
“What is it, padawan?”  
  
“I’m not quite sure, Master, but since we found the Queen, I felt a resonance—”  
  
The Jedis stepped inside the living-room and noticed her. There had been no opportunity to observe them at length before. The eldest was rather similar to what she expected of a Master Jedi. The youngest looked unremarkable with his short hair, but then he was the apprentice, wasn’t it? And Jedi weren’t supposed to be ostentatious. Still, there was something about him… Their eyes met. He had pretty eyes, captivating ones.  
  
“Oh,” he breathed.  
  
“Obi-wan?” Qui-Gon Jinn asked.  
  
“A soulbond, master,” Obi-Wan replied. “That’s what… that’s what I felt. The beginning of a soulbond.”  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Qui-Gon shifted a hand toward Padmé. His apprentice nodded.  
  
“I see.”  
  
“I don’t,” Padmé intervened, rising from her crouch. “You’re talking about me, are you not? I feel this… resonance you mentioned.” Obi-Wan met her eyes again. The feeling grew, like a pull toward the young Jedi. “What is it?”  
  
“Well, this is… unexpected,” Qui-Gon muttered as he stroke his beard. “May I ask for your name, milady?”  
  
“Padmé. Padmé Naberrie.”  
  
“Did you ever happen to be tested for Force Sensitivity, by chance?”  
  
“Yes.” Unless the family refused, most citizens of the Republic were. “The result was in the lowest percentile acceptable for Jedi training. My parents felt it wasn’t enough to send me to the Temple.” Highly Force-sensitive children could have difficulties controlling their gifts, and it became a necessity for them to be trained, but it had never been an issue for Padmé.  
  
“Well, that would explain it,” Qui-Gon told his apprentice, who nodded in agreement. Before Padmé could demand an explanation, he turned toward her. “What you and my padawan are feeling is the beginning of a soulbond, a sign of high compatibility in the Force between you two. It’s a spontaneous and rare phenomenon, a blessing by the Force.”  
  
“What does it entail?” She couldn’t afford to be bonded to anyone. As sovereign of Naboo, her only commitment was to her people.  
  
“Nothing if you do not wish it,” Obi-Wan rushed to assure her.  
  
“Indeed. At this stage, it’s mainly a way to inform you of your compatibility,” Qui-Gon added. “Should you nurture this bond, however, it could develop with time into a Force bond, a connection of the minds which can allow an emotional link, between other things… but we’re far from such considerations, and that’s probably for the best considering our situation.”  
  
“I see,” Padmé murmured, mentally noting that she needed to research the subject more thoroughly as soon as she had a moment to do so.  
  
Qui-Gon looked between them thoughtfully before he clasped his padawan’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you to talk for a while.”  
  
Padmé crouched down to continue her work on R2-D2. She was feeling uneasy now that she was alone with someone she was supposed to be ‘compatible’ with. Obi-Wan must have felt the same because he didn’t speak. When she glanced at him, he was rubbing his jaw hesitantly while staring at the ground.  
  
“It’s rather distracting, is it not? This… resonance.”  
  
“Ah.” Obi-Wan looked up, relieved that she had broken the silence. “Yes, it is. Well, I can control it, but as you’re untrained… It’s a novel feeling for me too, but I believe it may stop at skin-contact. The resonance is just supposed to pull people together, you see, and—”  
  
Sensing his nervousness, Padmé simply held out her free hand (the one which wasn’t covered in wet dirt) toward him.  
  
Stopped mid-sentence, Obi-Wan cleared his throat and stepped forward to hold her hand up as if he was going to kiss it. His touch underneath her fingers was light.  Regardless, the effect was instantaneous. While it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, the immediate disappearance of the resonance was a relief.  
  
“Is that better?” he breathed.  
  
“Much,” she agreed.  
  
He nodded and let her go, slowlier than was necessary. He stepped back and hid his hands in his cloak’s sleeves. “It’s a rather unfortunate timing, but I would like to learn about you if you’re amenable.”  
  
She hesitated, rubbing on a resistant stain, before glancing at him. “Is it important? A soulbond? Master Jinn made it sound so.”  
  
“Soulbonds can be the premise of great relationships of all kind. But yes, they are rather seen as a boon by Jedi.”  
  
“I have a duty to Naboo.”  
  
“As I have to the Jedi order. Of course, we may not see each other daily after this mission, but I would like to keep a good relationship with you, milady.”  
  
Padmé put down the rag she was using and rose again, facing the Jedi fully. To hide would be pointless and insulting to him. She lifted her chin. “You don’t understand. I am Padmé Amidala Naberrie, Queen of Naboo.  
  
To his credit, Obi-Wan didn’t let his surprise show. She barely noticed the glance he threw to R2-D2, which indicated he hadn’t expected the Queen to be on clean-up duty. He bowed immediately after. “Your Highness. I apologize for my presumptuousness. I understand that you wouldn’t want to associate—”  
  
“It isn’t so. I would like to learn about you too, Obi-Wan Kenobi, as long as you understand my duties.”  
  
“Of course.” He bowed again. “Thank you for indulging me.”  
  
She tilted her head. “Us.”  
  
He smiled for the first time. It warmed his eyes and softened his features. She liked it.

 

*  
 

Padmé wanted to join Master Jinn to explore Tatooine and follow his progress. Unfortunately, Captain Panaka was rather adamant she stayed safely inside. In the end, she only let herself be convinced when she learned that Obi-Wan would stay to guard the ship. She supposed she could use the opportunity to learn more about him and their bond. That, at least, would keep her occupied.  
  
She relented and asked her handmaidens if one of them could be her eyes. Eirtaé volunteered and imposed her presence to Master Jinn (she could be bossy).  
  
Soon after their departure, Padmé found Obi-Wan talking with the pilots in the cockpit. She met his eyes. He took his leave politely to follow her in a quiet corner of the galley.  
  
“Did you tell your master about my identity?” she asked.  
  
“I did. He was fondly exasperated by my luck.”  
  
She tilted her head questioningly.  
  
He stared at the fridge and hid his hands in his sleeves. “I met a Duchess during a previous mission who was… quite dear to me.”  
  
“Another soulbond?”  
  
“No, no. You’re the first. No, she was just… a very dear friend.”  
  
Padmé hummed in understanding at what was implied. It seemed to be a delicate subject, however. It was hardly her place to push when they were just getting acquainted. “Do you have a taste for nobility, Obi-Wan?” she asked teasingly to lighten the mood.  
  
He blushed but finally met her eyes. “Only to nobility of the soul, your Highness.”  
  
The lovely response made her smile. “Padmé, please. If we are to be friends, you should call me Padmé when we’re alone.”  
  
He bowed his head. “As you wish, Padmé. And you? Did you tell your handmaidens? I suppose they are your confidantes.”  
  
“They are. And I did. If I followed their advice, I would have to interrogate you. Their list of enquiries was quite long.” They had been excited, the subject being a welcomed reprieve from their worries due to the blockade. They also had been appreciative of Obi-Wan’s looks, but she wasn’t going to admit that.  
  
“I would be happy to let you cross a few from the list,” he offered, spreading his hands, palms up. “It would be fair. I have read your public file to prepare for the mission, after all.”  
  
“Very well. I shall start with the easiest. How old are you?”  
  
“Twenty-five,” he answered readily.  
  
She blinked in surprise. She had imagined him a little younger, closer to twenty.  
  
“Force-sensitive individuals tend to age a little slower past puberty,” he admitted sheepishly.    
  
“I see.” Nevermind then, that was hardly an issue. Padmé had older friends. “What is your homeworld?”  
  
“I was born on Stewjon, but I hardly remember it or my family. I was sent to the Temple on Coruscant a few months after I was born.”  
  
She had difficulties to imagine growing without her family. She would be so terribly sad, but then if he had been separated so young, he wouldn’t remember otherwise, would he? Nonetheless, she didn’t regret the choice her parents had made by keeping her away from the Jedi, regardless of their noble cause. “What is it like? growing in the Jedi Temple?”  
  
Obi-Wan’s anecdotes of his youth were fascinating by their differences to her lifestyle and touching by their likeness to her own memories. They compared a few stories about stern teachers, mischievous friends, bitter failures and significant victories.  
  
Talking to Obi-Wan was easy. He was a skilled conversationalist with sharp wit, deep empathy, and an erudite background. While they might not agree on everything (she found some of the Jedi traditions he mentioned rather… stern), they disagreed gracefully. She began to understand where this soulbond might be coming from. They just matched.  
  
They had made tea while they talked, and they were only interrupted when Qui-Gon made contact for the first time.  
  
After learning that acquiring a new hyperdrive generator would be harder than planned, Padmé took her leave, reminded of the heavy doubts and fears she had for their future.  
  
 

*  
 

“Unable to sleep?”  
  
Padmé startled, brought out of her musings by the silent appearance of Obi-Wan. After waking in cold sweat, she had taken a shower and chosen to wander to the living-room so she could read a bit without waking up Sabé and Rabé, with which she shared a room.  
  
“Nightmare. You?”  
  
“Something similar.”  
  
Obi-Wan sat by her side on the comfortable couch. “I could help you with a sleeping trance, if you want.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“It’s… a form of hypnosis, you could say. Harmless.”  
  
“Doesn’t it work on yourself?”  
  
“Unfortunately, no. Autohypnosis is inefficient. I can meditate to rest, though.”  
  
She pondered his offer. “Maybe later? I don’t… I don’t want to close my eyes right now.”  
  
He nodded in understanding.  
  
For a moment, all they could hear was the sandstorm outside shaking the ship and blowing insistently. Padmé couldn’t focus on the datapad she had chosen at random on the shelves.  
  
“Do you want to play?” Obi-Wan offered, showing a deck of sabbac left on the table by the pilots.  
  
“I’m not very good. I never had the opportunity to play much,” she admitted.  
  
He shrugged. “I’m not ever. Games of chance just aren’t my thing, but they don’t need a lot of thought, so it seems appropriate.”  
  
Padmé nodded and put the datapad aside, accepting the two cards dealt to her.  
  
“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”  
  
“You can probably guess.”  
  
“Your people’s fate on Naboo? I’m sorry. It seems a heavy duty to care for all your people at your age. ”  
  
“I can’t imagine it ever getting easier with age,” she replied, drawing one card from the deck. “And I would always care, regardless of my status. I can’t stay idle when others are in need of help. I never have been able to.”  
  
“I understand, completely,” he murmured.  
  
“I suppose we do have much in common. Yet, somehow, it feels like this is exactly why we won't be able to have much of a relationship. You as a Jedi, going all over the galaxy, and I bound by my duty to Naboo.”  
  
“My Master would advise me to focus on the present,” Obi-Wan replied after a moment of thought. “We can’t predict the future. It’s always changing. All we can do is appreciate the present moment.”  
  
“I suppose it’s wise…” She put her cards down. “Twenty-three. I believe this is called Pure Sabacc.”  
  
Obi-Wan stared at her cards and snorted. “Indeed. Well played, your Highness.”  
  
Padmé won most of the following games. “I hope you’re not letting me win.”  
  
He snorted and put his cards down in defeat. “I admit the idea had brushed my mind at the beginning, but I assure you it has proven to be unnecessary.”  
  
Padmé smiled in satisfaction before stifling a yawn.  
  
“Would you like to try sleeping again?”  
  
She hesitated before relenting. She needed the rest if she wanted to be of help to her people when the time came. She lied down on the sofa, her head near Obi-Wan’s lap.  
  
He rested a hand on her hair as he guided her softly into sleep: “Close your eyes. Breathe in deeply for one, two, three, four, five, six. Hold. Breathe out for one, two, three, four, five. Focus on your breath. In... Hold. Out...”  
  
She felt how, softly, he pushed her mind toward sleep. She couldn’t explain how, but she suspected it had something to do with their bond. She just knew that the lethargy falling on her was his doing. Falling asleep had never been so easy.  
  
In the morning, she found herself in her bed, way past her usual wake up time. When she rose from a restful sleep, Sabé et Rabé were waiting for her with breakfast and teasing smiles.

"Did you sleep well, your Highness?" Rabé asked, managing to appear innocent while sounding mischievous.

They didn’t need persuading to tell her how, as soon as they were awake (and not a second before), Obi-Wan had knocked at their door. He had been gallantly carrying Padmé in a bridal carry. The Jedi had politely but firmly asked them not to wake Padmé up so she could get as much rest as she could.  
  
Padmé realized Obi-Wan had stayed by her side for a few hours before he had carried her to bed. She kept that detail for herself. No need to give more fodder for her friends’ teasing.

   
*

 

A few hours later, the transmission from the governor had brought more despair to her heart. Padmé stood in front of the ramp leading to the inhospitable territory of Tatooine and wished for the opportunity to do something, anything.  
  
“Your Highness… Padmé.”  
  
She turned her head toward the newcomer but kept her eyes on the shifting sand.  
  
“My people are dying, Obi-Wan.”  
  
He stepped closer. She could feel his warmth at her shoulder. “Have faith. Master Jinn has a plan. We’ll soon be able to leave for Coruscant.”  
  
“And when we reach Coruscant, will the Senate help us?”  
  
When he failed to reply immediately, she turned to face him and meet his guarded eyes.  
  
“Tell me. You are more familiar with the Senate than I am. Will they help?”  
  
“I cannot say, your Highness. The Senate is slow to act lately, but it’s your best chance…”  
  
“Is it?” She pursed her lips. “And if the Senate grants us help. Will it be sufficient? How long will it take?”  
  
“They will have to organize the Judicial Forces to break the blockade. Its Navy is scattered, nowadays.  It should take a few days… maybe a week.”  
  
“My people don’t have a week. Every day without food will bring deaths in the thousands!” she exclaimed with a gesture of frustration.  
  
Obi-Wan caught her hand before she could hit the metal wall and hurt herself. He gently squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry, your Highness, but there is no other option. Against the Trade Federation’s droids, you need an army.”  
  
She bit her lip and squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand tighter. He didn’t complain and let her press her forehead against his shoulder. When she straightened suddenly, he froze with his free hand hovering over her back, where he had been ready to hug her.  
  
“An army,” she breathed.  
  
“Yes?” he asked hesitantly.  
  
She scrambled to reach the deep pockets of her handmaiden dress and lifted a comlink to her lips. “Eirtaé, come in.”  
  
There was a delay before her handmaiden could answer. “Milady?”  
  
“Eirtaé, give me Jar Jar.”  
  
“Hellow?” came the hesitant reply of Jar Jar, who clearly didn’t know how to handle a comlink because they could hear his fingers brushing the mic. Padmé had to hold the device at arm-length to not be deafened. Fortunately, Eirtaé intervened, grumbling an exasperated: “Here, just… let me hold it. Speak up, she’ll hear.”  
  
“Jar Jar, the Gungans have a great army, do they not?” Padmé asked.  
  
“Yesa. Wesa warriors. Wesa gotta gran army. Dat why you no liken us, me thinks.”  
  
Padmé stared at Obi-Wan with a triumphant expression.  
  
With raised eyebrows, Obi-Wan noted: “They have no spacecraft.”  
  
“We do.”  
  
He tilted his head. “Well… that could work,” he admitted. “The Trade Federation certainly wouldn’t expect it.”  
  
“Padmé?” Eirtaé asked curiously.  
  
“I’ll explain at your return. How are things going?”  
  
“Oh, it’s going,” Eirtaé grumbled. “Master Jinn has a plan... if you can call gambling a plan.”  
  
Padmé glanced at Obi-Wan hesitantly. She had not heard details of the Jedi’s plan.  
  
Obi-Wan cleared his throat and nodded encouragingly. “It will work.”  
  
“I suppose at this point it’s the only thing which matters…”  
  
“So Master Jinn says,” Eirtaé said disdainfully. “I have to go. I’ll let you know how it goes.”  
  
As the communication cut, Obi-Wan commented: “She sounds quite opinionated.”  
  
Padmé smiled. “She was a candidate to the election of Queen, like me. She needs to be.”  
  
“A rival?”  
  
“A friend, now.”  
  
“She’s lucky, then.”  
  
“As I am,” Padmé said before reaching for his fingers and squeezing them gently. “We’re made greater by the friendships we keep.”  
  
“I couldn’t agree more,” he replied before raising her hand to his lips for a butterfly kiss.  
  
She held back a blush and questioned him with a look.  
  
He smiled. “I see now why Naboo chose you. I’m humbled to be soulbonded to you.”  
  
“Hush, you. Stop the compliments and come, let’s talk to Captain Panaka.”  
  
“Yes, your Highness,” he said, smiling at her back.

  
*  
 

Their departure from Naboo was a rush of sand and lightsabers. Fortunately, Obi-Wan had talked to Qui-Gon, and Padmé to Panaka. Everyone had agreed to her plan of going back directly to Naboo to fight with the Gungans.  
  
“A bold plan,” Qui-Gon had commented, “but I can’t say the Queen is wrong in her distrust of the Senate.”  
  
They were now all preparing to fight on Naboo. Changing in combat suits with her handmaiden, Padmé asked Eirtaé: “Who is the boy?”  
  
“Anakin Skywalker. He won the race which allowed us to get the generator. He’s Force-sensitive, and ‘strong in the Force’,” Eirtaé replied, imitating Qui-Gon’s voice for the last words, which got her friends to giggle. “He was a slave, but Master Jinn won him in a bet so he can become a Jedi.”  
  
“A slave? A bet?!” Padmé repeated, startled as she pulled her head out of her shirt.  
  
“I know,” Eirtaé grumbled. “Captain Panaka was right. Tatooine is distasteful.” She proceeded into retelling her whole adventure on Tatooine, to the fascination and horror of her friends. “And here? What did I miss?” she finally asked as she pulled on her battle boots.  
  
Rabé immediately launched into a rant about “Charming Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi”.  
  
Padmé rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile stretching her lips as Rabé insisted on how careful Obi-Wan had been when carrying her.  
  
“They played sabacc,” Sabé added helpfully as she adjusted the belt of her decoy costume.  
  
“You don’t like sabacc,” Eirtaé pointed out with a bemused look to Padmé.  
  
“Not particularly, but it turns out I’m quite good at it.”  
  
“Of course you are. Is there anything you aren’t good at?” Eirtaé grumbled, but it was good-natured. Her jealousy had disappeared with time.  
  
“Idleness. I would have gone mad without Obi-Wan. He’s a good friend.”  
  
“Well, I hope he’s a good fighter too because we’ll need it,” Eirtaé commented with a sigh.  
  
“Who was the Zabrak who attacked Master Jinn?” Sabé asked.  
  
“I don't know, and I don’t like it,” Padmé admitted with a frown. Somehow, she knew that Obi-Wan was worried about it.

  
*

The plan worked.  
  
Padmé was amazed at how well it worked, actually. She was even more amazed when told that the success against the Droid Control Ship was due to a nine years old boy. Queen Amidala thanked him personally and ordered Eirtaé to make sure he would want for nothing during his stay on Naboo.  
  
“Are all young Jedi so bright?” she asked Obi-Wan the next day, on their way out of the palace. The Queen and her handmaidens were going to help with the relief efforts. Obi-Wan had volunteered to join them and protect her, despite the lower risk to her safety now that they controlled Theed.  
  
The apprentice shrugged. “Master Jinn seems to think Anakin is a special case. Personally, I can’t say that I ever had a fondness for piloting.”  
  
“He’s a special case, all right,” Eirtaé agreed with a roll of her eyes, but Padmé noticed the fondness hidden in her voice.  
  
“In any case, we are extremely grateful for your help,” Padmé told Obi-Wan.  
  
“It was all your doing, your Highness.”  
  
“We wouldn’t have succeeded without your protection." She paused and pursed her painted lips. "What do you think of the being who attacked Master Jinn on Tatooine? Was he after us?”  
  
“I’m not sure, your Highness. If he was, it’s fortunate he didn’t follow us. He might have believed we would go to Coruscant, as originally planned.”  
  
Padmé hummed in understanding. “In that case, I’m glad of our choice.”  
  
“Your idea was excellent.”  
  
Padmé halted a few steps away from the exit door and turned toward Obi-Wan who stopped by her side. “You gave me the idea, Obi-Wan. Your counsel has been extremely invaluable, and I’m grateful for your friendship.”  
  
He bowed. “As I am, your Highness.”  
  
“You have already done much. Do not feel obliged to help us with the relief efforts.”  
  
“As a friend of mine once said, I cannot stay idle when others are in need of help,” he replied with warm eyes.  
  
Padmé smiled, bright and wide, in a way she hadn’t felt able to since the beginning of the blockade.  
  
Behind her, Rabé hid a giggle behind a hand, Sabé pretended to wave a fan, as if the scene was particularly exciting, and Eirtaé looked to the ceiling. Padmé couldn’t summon the will to glare at them.  
  
She was blessed with such good friends.


	2. Eight years later

Padmé hesitated on the doorstep of a diner in CoCo Town. She had been on Coruscant for a week now. It wasn’t enough to get accustomed to the city planet, so different from her own. What’s more, it had only been three months since her second term as Queen of Naboo had ended. The return to civilian life was harder than she expected. To be honest, she simply had never stepped inside such an establishment. That wasn’t an issue, of course, she was eager to try all the things she couldn’t when she was a Queen, but she suddenly wondered if there were some rules she should know about eating in a ‘diner’.

R2-D2 bumped into her, whistling curiously at her hesitation. She stepped forward and breathed in deeply. Dormé squeezed her hand in encouragement before leading the droid toward the other side of the restaurant to allow her some privacy.

“Padmé.” Obi-Wan rose from the bench seat where he had been waiting for her.

She relaxed. Obi-Wan would tell her if she made any mistake. She went to join him and realized with surprise how much the last eight years had favored him. Gone was the smooth skin and cropped hair making him look so young. With a short beard and longer hair, Obi-Wan looked his age, and he looked it well.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he commented with a large grin before hugging her.

“You have,” she replied, returning the hug without hesitation, “and you look good.” While they had kept in touch, most of their communications had been audio. The rare holos had been of poor quality: Obi-Wan couldn’t use the best holoprojectors in the temple for personal communications.

“Do I? Not looking younger than I am anymore?” he asked with mischievous eyes.

“Definitely not,” she confirmed, raising a hand to brush his hair. “It fits you. I like it.”

He also seemed more lively, happy, and confident than she could remember. All in all, Obi-Wan looked much better than she remembered. While he hadn’t been ugly before, she hadn’t really seen why her handmaidens had made a fuss about him. Now… well, that was another story altogether.

“Come, sit down,” he told her with a hand on the small of her back.

Padmé lifted the end of her dark blue cloak over her forearm as they sat down face to face.

“I hope you don’t mind the informal setting. I don’t go out much in Coruscant. When you suggested eating together that’s all I could come up with,” he admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. “Dex —the owner and cook— is a good friend. The food is excellent.”

“I trust you, and I’m glad to try something I’m not used to in your company,” she replied honestly. “It’s a bit daunting to discover Coruscant, but I’m really excited at the prospect.”

“Welcome to Dex’s Diner! I am FLO. Are you ready to order?” a serving droid asked them as it stopped by their table.

“Oh. Uh…” Padmé hadn’t even thought about looking at the menu. Her meals had always been decided and prepared in advance. She sent a startled glance at Obi-Wan.

“We’ll both take the daily special and photon fizzle, thank you,” Obi-Wan ordered.

“Sure thing, hon. Drinks are coming. Meal will be ready in ten,” FLO replied before rolling away.

“I always take the meal of the day. It saves me a headache,” Obi-Wan admitted to Padmé. “How is civilian life treating you?”

“Well enough, when I’m not suddenly reminded I have no idea how to act like everyone else,” she admitted sheepishly.

“You have all the time in the world to learn how, now. How long do you plan to stay on Coruscant?”

“I’m not sure. Actually, I’m thinking about my options for the future...”

“What are they?” Obi-Wan asked.

FLO came back with their drinks. Padmé reached for the glass to have something to do with her hands.

“Senator Horace Vancil’s term will end next year. Queen Jamillia has asked me to serve as his successor,” she admitted before taking a tentative sip. The fizzy green drink was a novelty to her, but it was sweet and sour, not unpleasant.

“A well-deserved honor. What is the alternative?”

“I enjoy my free time and do nothing for a while.”

“You hate idleness,” Obi-Wan pointed out, amused.

“I do,” she agreed, “but there is so much I don’t know, so much to see, to do. I was relieved at the end of my terms. I was looking forward to some free time and thinking about starting a family, maybe... I love to serve my people, and I feel like I would fail them if I refused, but being a Senator is different from being a Queen. I have to know more about the Republic, its rules and its differences, about Coruscant and the Senate, how everything works around here… And there is this growing Separatist Movement which is really worrying. I know too little about it.”

“You could take some leave, serve for the next term.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Horace Vancil can still do one term, and he’s a good man. I could also suggest others, if he wants to retire.”

“You have something else in mind,” Obi-Wan guessed.

She pushed her drink aside and leaned forward with her forearms on the table, reaching for Obi-Wan’s hand. He welcomed her touch, curious.

“I have been thinking, about what we talked about...”

Understanding, Obi-Wan covered her fingers with his free hand and leaned closer. “As I said, Padmé, I’ll always be there, now or later—”

“But what if I don’t want later?” she interrupted him. “What if I’m tired of waiting? of putting my own wishes after my duty?”

Her outburst surprised them both. They stared at each other in silence, but Padmé didn’t take her words back. It was a long time coming. She had buried those thoughts for eight years, but her relationship with Obi-Wan had always been honest. It pushed her to be frank.

“Two daily specials!” FLO announced cheerfully.

They parted quickly to let the droid put down their plates. They thanked her distractedly. Staring at their plates full of some kind of vegetal steaks and fries, they reached for their cutlery.

“It seems to me like you already made your choice,” Obi-Wan commented.

She sighed and cut the steak with a put-upon expression. “I don’t know… I know what my heart wants, but my head tells me it’s selfish.”

“Padmé, you have served your people for eight years, and you have done it so brilliantly that they wanted you to continue. I don’t think that can be called in any way ‘selfishness’,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “By all means, please, be a little selfish, so that us simple mortals can hope to reach your ankle.”

Padmé snorted. “You’re a Jedi, Obi-Wan. I don’t think you can be described as a ‘simple mortal’.”

He winked at her before pointing at his plate. “So, what do you think?”

She nodded approvingly. “Your friend is a good cook.”

 

*

 

They left Dex’s Diner after an excellent lunch. Dormé and R2-D2 followed them a few steps behind. Arm in arm, Obi-Wan led her around, showing her Coruscant, its districts and interesting locations. She had already gone around a bit, but visiting with him was a completely different experience, much more captivating and exciting. To hear his stories about each place, his advice, and comments, was also extremely helpful. They wandered for a long time until they reached a small park where they took a break on a bench.

“Am I imagining it?” she asked. “The bond?”

“No. It’s developing faster than I thought.”

“Is it the touches?” she wondered, glancing at their arms brushing. They certainly hadn’t touched so easily when they first met, but then the age and status difference had been more obvious.

“In part, probably. That, and I believe you are more… open to it,” he explained tactfully. ”Your mind was much too preoccupied at the time.”

“I don’t remember feeling this.” It was strange. Obi-Wan had explained in details what a bond entailed during their many conversations, which helped her to identify those emotions that she could feel and recognize as not being her own. It would have been difficult otherwise because Obi-Wan felt just like her at this moment: content.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “No. As I said, it’s… developing fast.”

“Too fast?” she asked, wondering about his hesitation.

“I’m worried it could become difficult to handle for you.”

“Because I’m untrained.”

“Yes.”

She nodded in understanding. “What should we do?”

“If you’re determined to develop it—”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Even if I do become Senator, we could see each other more often when we’re both on Coruscant.”

He nodded in understanding. “Then you need to be trained in mental shielding. We need to talk to Master Yoda.”

“Why? Can’t you teach me?”

“It’s rare for a soulbond to develop between a member of the Order and an untrained outsider.”

“I remember. You told me.”

“Well, I’m worried we could run into some… complications. I’d like to have a more experienced opinion. Master Yoda has seen more soulbonds than anyone else I know.”

“All right. If you think it’s best. He already knows about us anyway, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan glanced toward the Temple Jedi visible on the horizon. “To be honest, if you’re to come with me to the temple, I should warn you that… pretty much everyone knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I came back from our mission, I only told the Council and my friends, but since soulbonds are rare and you were a Queen… well, it made for a good story so… now everyone knows.”

She chuckled. “Really? Is this story titled ‘the Queen and her Knight’?”

“I’m sure someone dared,” Obi-Wan grumbled good-naturedly.

“What about the Council? You told me they had some concerns about our bond. How will they react?”

“They won’t interfere. A soulbond is as sacred as anything can be for a Jedi. However, they… uh… suggested that, if we were to develop that bond to a more… romantic level, we should exercise some discretion.”

Padmé held back a smile of amusement at the very careful way Obi-Wan chose his words. “That’s not a problem for me. But why?”

“Well, such relationships, while not forbidden, are not encouraged for Jedi. So, it would be inappropriate to flaunt it.”

“A Jedi can’t have a lover?” she asked, startled. Now that she thought about it, she didn’t remember ever hearing about such a relationship, but still.

“We can, but our commitment is to the Order and the Force. It must stay our main focus, our first priority. Many Jedi have trysts, mainly between each other. There are even some true love stories. Most often, they are open secrets. What _is_ frowned upon is any kind of marriage or engagement, because it implies you’re putting someone above all else.”

Padmé nodded slowly. “I understand. As a Queen of Naboo, I was committed to my people. I could have had a relationship, but I wouldn’t have married then. It would have been bad form. It’s the same for you, except that you’re committed for life to the Jedi… It’s truly a heavy duty.”

“Yes. And you’d be restricted similarly because of me, if—”

“Can you have children?” she blurted out.

He blinked in surprise, imitated a fish for a moment, and then just nodded.

Padmé grinned and shrugged. “Then it’s not an issue. I’d like a family, but a marriage doesn’t matter much to me, especially when we are already bonded. I don’t think there can be any engagement more serious than that.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Indeed… Shall we find Master Yoda?”

“Certainly, my knight. Just let me send back Dormé and Artoo.”

 

*

 

It was the first time that Padmé entered the Temple Precinct. She had seen it from afar, of course, but to visit it was different. Contrary to the agitation of Coruscant, this place was so calm that it was a relief to Padmé. Obi-Wan slowed his steps to let her admire their surroundings. The Temple’s architecture in itself was not the most impressive she had seen, but she stared at the four sculptures in the front with interest. She already knew all about their story, but pictures and holograms failed to show their size and stature.

They were greeted at the entrance by Guards on each side. They saluted Obi-Wan as her friend pulled her toward a console.

“To be allowed inside, you need to identify yourself and explain the motive of your visit,” he explained. “Do you have your—”

Padmé scanned her ID card before he could finish his sentence, and the computer spoke up: “Padmé Amidala Naberrie, former Queen of Naboo. Please stay still during scanning... Identity confirmed. What is the reason for your visit?”

She raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan.

He hesitated before suggesting: “Soulmate visit?”

“Please identify your soulmate.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said clearly. For a moment, she felt like the Temple Guards were looking at her, but their masks were still turned toward the stairs so it was hard to say.

“... Soulbond confirmed. Your soulmate has been notified of your presence. Welcome to the Jedi Temple, Lady Naberrie,” the computer said as it printed an access card.

Obi-Wan reached for his comlink to accept the incoming notification with a roll of his eyes. “This system needs to be upgraded,” he commented, “but then I wasn’t even sure they had the option. It mustn’t have been used in years.”

“Your soulbond is in your file?” she asked as he guided her toward the security gates.

“It’s mandatory. Having a soulmate means having additional rights and obligations, so it needs to be known. Would you like to visit the Room of a Thousand Fountains on the way?”

Her face lit up. Obi-Wan had told her a lot about the Temple, and this room had always appealed to her. “Can we?”

“Of course,” he said fondly. “This way.”

Obi-Wan didn’t touch her while they walked through the Temple, but they were standing close to each other, and Padmé’s finely embroidered outfit stuck out. Eyes inevitably followed them. Obi-Wan ignored them all and pointed out to her a few details about history or anecdotes he had told her about over the years.

When they entered the Room of a Thousand Fountains, Padmé’s lips parted in delight and stretched into a wide grin. In contrast to the city outside, they suddenly seemed to have teleported on her homeworld. Trees, waterfalls, and lakes filled what was hardly a room anymore, and the air they breathed was so much more fragrant and pure.

“What do you think?” Obi-Wan asked, happy to show her his home.

“It’s even bigger and better than I imagined,” she admitted, laughing in delight. “It’s the largest greenhouse I have ever seen. I love it.” She walked around, twirling to admire every flower, then the ceiling, and then a butterfly which flew under her nose. After a few minutes, she turned around to look for him and beamed. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed some greenery until now,” she admitted with a sheepish laugh. “Thank you for bringing me, it’s wonderful! Show me the lake where you swim with your friend Bant?” she requested hopefully.

Obi-Wan bowed, partly to hide the effect that her delight had on him, filling him through the bond with a warm happy glow. He would need to meditate for a long time to channel this new bond in a more manageable shape. And if it had this impact on him, a trained Knight, then it was important he kept a firm leash on his own emotions to not overwhelm Padmé. “With pleasure.”

They walked deeper into the artificial forest.

“Obi-Wan!”

The shout made them stop near a fountain. They turned to find a blond padawan jogging toward them. “Here you are. I need you—” The boy stopped mid-word at the sight of Padmé.

“Anakin. You remember Padmé Amidala from Naboo?” Obi-Wan asked helpfully.

“Anakin?” Padmé repeated in surprise. “My goodness, you have grown.”

“Milady,” Anakin murmured as he bowed. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you. How are you? You’re the Padawan of Master Jinn, aren’t you? Does that make you two siblings?” she asked mischievously.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I suppose you can say that. I’m sorry Anakin, can it wait? We need to find Master Yoda so he can help us with our bond.”

“He’s on top of the main waterfall with Master Jinn, and he sent me to fetch you. That’s what I needed your help with actually. Get me away from here, somehow, I have had enough of this place for days,” Anakin groaned.

“Your allergies again, uh?” Obi-Wan said, falsely sympathetic.

“I’ll sneeze on you if you just think about making a joke,” Anakin threatened with an exasperated glare.

“I would never.”

“Yeah. Pretend to be innocent in front of your soulmate. I know better,” Anakin grumbled good-naturally as he took the lead toward the main and highest waterfall.

Delighted by their banter, Padmé followed by Obi-Wan’s side and murmured to him: “You didn’t tell me you were like brothers.”

“It’s… somewhat of a recent development,” Obi-Wan admitted with the same tone. “There was some tension between us at the beginning.”

“Because of your trials?” she asked, concerned. He had told her how, at their return from Naboo, Qui-Gon had volunteered Obi-Wan for his Knight trials and asked to take Anakin as his padawan in the next breath. It had been a bitter pill to swallow for the Council and Obi-Wan. Anakin had apparently also been left uneasy over the whole matter, which was understandable: to be the bone of contention was not an easy position to be in.

Obi-Wan nodded briefly, and she didn’t push.

To reach the top of the waterfall, they had to climb some steep stairs carved in slippery stone. Obi-Wan let Padmé step in front of him so he could catch her if she slipped. Despite having some advance, Anakin slowed to keep an eye on her too. Padmé ignored them both, draped her cloak over her shoulders and climbed so swiftly and easily that Anakin was left to scramble forward before she could pass him.

Once they reached the top, Padmé turned around to admire the view from the highest point of the room. It was a wonderful sight. The trees’ foliage was a multicolor changing carpet.

“Bright your heart is.”

Startled, she turned around to meet the sharp eyes of a being she had overlooked.

“Master Yoda, this is Padmé Amidala Naberrie, former Queen of Naboo, my soulmate. Padmé, this is Master Yoda, Grand Master of the Jedi Order.”

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Padmé said with a bow.

“Mh… Soulmate of young Kenobi you are. Blessed he is, but unsafe your bond is.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan explained. “The bond developed much quicker than I expected over the last few hours. Too quickly, considering Padmé’s lack of training.”

“Over a few hours this grew?”

“Yes, master. We only met again today after eight years of separation.”

“Mh… Communicating over the years you have been. Growing closer your souls have, but too far apart for the bond to deepen you were. Delayed reaction this is. Dangerous indeed it is. Urgent training is needed. Important your self-control is until then, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m aware, master. I have shielded her as much as I dared to without unsettling the bond.”

Padmé glanced at him in surprise at the admission. She wasn’t aware he had to.

“Done well you have,” Yoda approved. “Come meditate with me you should, Lady Amidala. Much to learn you have.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Padmé agreed easily, following him along a small stone bridge crossing the river which fell over the edge a few steps away. She caught sight of Master Jinn’s silhouette near the edge, but Yoda quickly commanded her attention and ordered her to sit down on a flat rock.

She would be hard pressed to say how much time she spent guided by Yoda’s patient voice to discipline her mind and learn how to develop a basic shield over her core. The concept in itself was rather mysterious, but its execution was easier than she expected.

“A strong sense of self you have. Good this is. Focus on what makes you _you_. Be aware of who you are, what you feel, what you think, at all time and in all circumstances. Your core this is. If aware of it you are, then untouched it will stay. Shielded from outside influence. Firm and rooted, like a tree. Your memories are the roots, your feelings the trunk, your thoughts the leaves. Visualize it. Picture it. Give it a shape. Memorize it. Every new memory adds a root. Feelings grow in the trunk. Thoughts rustle like leaves. Do you see it?”

“I do,” she agreed, imagining a colorful tree of her homeplanet.

“This is your shield. Visualising it often you must to strengthen it.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Somehow, she had expected a shield to be… well in the shape of a shield. That was rather silly, she supposed, but she had certainly not expected a tree.

“Enough for today this is. More lessons every day for a while you will need.”

“Thank you for your help, Master Yoda.”

“No thanks needed. Blessed is a soulbond. Protected they should be. A good student you are. A good Jedi you would have been,” Yoda said as they walked back to the stairs. “Better student than some, hm,” he said pointedly while passing by Qui-Gon Jinn.

Qui-Gon smiled lopsidedly, used to the dig. He bowed in front of Padmé. “Milady. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise, Master Jinn,” she replied while accepting Obi-Wan’s hand to step down from the bridge.

Anakin was nowhere to be seen. He must have gotten his escape.

“How did it go?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I have a tree in my head,” she commented with a sheepish smile, feeling rather silly.

“It’s a good basic shield,” Qui-Gon approved.

“A basic shield is a tree?”

“Not for everyone,” Obi-Wan explained. “A shield can take any shape or form as long as it’s meaningful enough. Master Yoda must have felt this would work for you.”

“It does,” she agreed. “Does it make you feel better?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed without shame.

“What was the danger?”

“Without a strong sense of self, you could have let yourself be swept over by my emotions. You’d have then been unable to control them and be overwhelmed into a manic state or panic attack.”

“I shall not let it happen,” she promised with a squeeze of his fingers.

He kissed her hand. “I know you won’t.”


	3. Chapter 3

Her visits to the Temple became a daily occurrence, as ordered by Master Yoda. Even after a week, however, heads still turned her way.

“So it is true,” a voice reached her. “We’re blessed with the presence of my grandpadawan’s soulmate. Milady, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Master Dooku. Qui-Gon Jinn was my padawan.” Dooku bowed with the grace of a noble rather than the solemnity of a Jedi. Not surprising, she thought. Dooku was a noble name from Serenno, was it not? Probably not unrelated.

“Pleased to meet you, Master Dooku.” Even if she had never heard of him before.

“You are rather famous around here, I’m afraid,” he said, mentioning those slowing down as they passed them by.

“So I have been told. I expected the novelty to fade after a few days.”

He chuckled. “Unlikely. Soulmates are a blessing of the Force, after all.”

“For the soulmates themselves, certainly, but for others?”

“Did Obi-Wan failed to explain?” Dooku asked, surprised. “A soulbond with someone outside of the order is usually the sign of a great change in history.”

“Is it?”

“Certainly. The most famous, of course, is the change of heart of Darth Revan herself, turning away from the dark to follow her soulmate back to the light, but there are many others. As such, one can’t help but wonder what your bond will bring.”

“I see,” she murmured cautiously. Obi-Wan hadn’t explained that, but then she could understand why he wouldn’t. That was quite ominous.

“Padmé.” As if summoned by the suggestion he had failed his soulmate, Obi-Wan stopped by their side. “Master Dooku. Back from your mission?”

“Just so. And I arrived to the most delicious news. It’s good to see you reunited with your soulmate, Obi-Wan.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“And I hear that Qui-Gon and his padawan are here too, at least for a few more days. It’s a rare occasion indeed. We should celebrate. I know the most charming restaurant on Coruscant, my dear,” he told Padmé. “At sunset, it has a wonderful view. What do you say? Dinner, tonight?” When she turned toward Obi-Wan, hesitating, he added confidently: “I’ll convince Master Yoda and Qui-Gon.”

“I would love to,” Padmé admitted when no contrary feelings sipped from Obi-Wan’s end of the bond. It was true, she would appreciate the opportunity to interact with those who were Obi-Wan’s equivalent of a family.

“Excellent,” Dooku approved with a satisfied smile. “I’ll see you tonight, then.” He bowed and left toward the turbolifts.

Obi-Wan led her toward the room of a thousand fountains where Yoda and she always met.

“He is…”

“Intense? Dramatic?” Obi-Wan suggested.

“Both of those, I suppose,” she agreed with a chuckle. “Noble-born, I think, isn’t he?”

“Yes, from Serenno. I should warn you that his relationship with Qui-Gon is rather… strained. Consequently, Anakin and I are not very close to him, but somehow he took an interest to me after learning about my soulbond.”

She hummed in understanding. “Is it a bad thing?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so… He has strong opinions, and misgivings about the Senate or the Council, but he’s fascinated by old traditions and artefacts. It feels like he’s hoping that…” He hesitated.

“Our soulbond means changes?” she guessed.

“Ah, so he told you.” Obi-Wan scratched his beard. “I’m sorry, I don’t want you to feel pressured by his expectations.”

“I understand, but I assure you that the expectations of your GrandMaster are hardly more daunting than the hopes and lives of my people were.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan admitted with a tilt of his head. “How are your lessons with Master Yoda going?”

“Well enough. Meditation comes easily. I already had some similar training as a child. Shielding from our bond is a little harder, but it will come to me.”

“I don’t doubt it. I’ll leave you to it, then. I have a lightsaber lesson to give to the initiates. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight,” she agreed. “Teach well, Master Kenobi.”  

He sent a wave of mischief through their bond in answer to her teasing. She hid a smile behind a hand while nodding at a Jedi observing her curiously.

 

*

 

The Twilight was one of the highest restaurants on Coruscant and boasted a 360° view.

Captain Typho drove Padmé to the private landpad an hour before sunset. The trip in itself was already quite worth the view.

She stepped inside with more poise than she had when entering Dex’s Diner. This was more of her usual scene. She let the maître d’hotel take her white coat trimmed with fur before she was led toward the table booked for them by Dooku, near the window.

Obi-Wan noticed her first, by virtue of their bond, but it’s Dooku who was immediately on his feet when he caught sight of her.

“My dear, you look magnificent,” he said, offering his hand to lead her to her seat between him and Obi-Wan.

“Thank you, Master Dooku. I hope you haven’t waited too long,” she said, knowing they had come together from the Temple. Apart from Dooku and Obi-Wan, who were in more formal robes, none of the others had changed she noticed without surprise. All of them were in shades of brown, beige or black. As planned, her [white dress](https://66.media.tumblr.com/135c4b7fcf44b87af6be24bfe04427e3/tumblr_nrv9wnN0u51sms0ibo4_540.png) contrasted nicely without sticking out. The sharp lines and plain color of the top befitted the sobriety of the Jedi, while the delicate body sewn with flowers and pearls fit the setting and her former status.  

“Not at all.”

She sat carefully, smoothing the train under her, and Dooku waited for her to be done before pushing the chair forward like a properly trained nobleman.

Padmé smiled at Obi-Wan, a smile which stretched when a wave of admiration let her know he agreed with Dooku’s statement regarding her appearance. She greeted the rest of the guests afterward.

The start of the dinner was rather stilted. Qui-Gon looked far from enthused, which led Padmé to think he had been manipulated into coming somehow. Anakin was intimidated, and Yoda wasn’t exactly a social butterfly.

Most of the conversation relied on Dooku and Padmé, which unsurprisingly led to the reveal of embarrassing anecdotes about Qui-Gon, which immediately retaliated by dragging Obi-Wan into it, who replied with just as many compromising comments, and suddenly no-one was safe anymore. From Yoda to Anakin, all of the lineage compared their most embarrassing moments in a cheerful chorus of voices over their plates of much too small dishes.

Wishing to integrate herself to the family, Padmé slipped her own story into the conversation.

“He didn’t!” Dooku breathed in shock.

“I would have twisted his hand for touching you,” Anakin proclaimed, outraged on her behalf.

“And that is why Padmé was a Queen at your age and not you, padawan,” Qui-Gon commented teasingly.

“Appropriate and wise, Padmé’s reaction was,” Yoda approved.

Padmé’s heart filled with joy when she realized that all of them had gotten used to addressing her by her first name during the meal, and she had only needed to ask them once. It felt like she had been accepted seamlessly into their small group. It felt good to have carved for herself a small family away from Naboo.

Fingers brushed her hand over the table. She looked to the side to meet Obi-Wan’s content smile. She turned her palm up so their fingers could intertwine.

“Now, what you have to know about the padawan bond, Padmé — and I’m sure you can relate with your soulbond — is that it’s harder to shield when you’re asleep,” Dooku was saying, calling for her attention again.

“Don’t you dare, Master,” Qui-Gon immediately protested, guessing where this was going.

“I want to hear it!” Anakin immediately demanded, his previous shyness completely forgotten.

“I concur,” Obi-Wan agreed with a smirk.

“Curious I am to hear where this is going,” Yoda agreed with twinkling eyes.

Ganging up on Qui-Gon was all in good fun, for none of them left the dinner without thoroughly embarrassing themselves, not even Yoda (to which he serenely commented: “Foolish before five hundred years old I was, understand you will at the same age,” which was immediately protested by a chorus of humans).

The sun set between the main dish and the dessert. They quieted down to admire the view in a silent mutual agreement. Calm fell upon them as the sky filled with shifting warm colors, and Padmé squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand with a happy heart.

It was past eleven when the Jedi saw her to the landpad where Captain Typho had returned. With a hand on Obi-Wan’s forearm, Padmé turned toward them with a warm smile.

“Thank you for the invitation, Master Dooku, it was a pleasure.”

“Thank you for accepting, my dear. You did make a dreary evening otherwise entertaining.”

Only noticeable by Padmé and Obi-Wan, Anakin nodded with wide eyes at the back of the group. Padmé was hard-pressed to contain her amusement, and she felt Obi-Wan had the same issue.

Padmé made her goodbyes one after another. When she reached Anakin, she embraced him lightly and whispered in her ear: “Think of all the blackmail material.”

“Trust me, that’s all I have been thinking about,” he replied with a sharp grin.

She bit her bottom lip to hold back a laugh and turned toward the airspeeder. Obi-Wan helped her climb inside, his warm hand a sharp contrast to the cool air of the evening. Once she was sitting, he leaned forward and murmured:

“That went much better than I expected, I have to admit.”

“Was that not in your habits, then?”

“Goodness, no. I don’t recall us ever being all together, for a start. And if we ever had been, with Dooku and Qui-Gon in the same room, it would have been a fight disguised into a debate. You do wonders, Padmé.”

“She has that effect,” Typho agreed, smirking when Padmé rolled her eyes at him.

“I’m sure you simply needed some incentive.”

“We’ll see if that will change anything, I suppose.” Obi-Wan straightened and stepped back. “Have a safe trip.”

“Good night!” She waved at them all as the airspeeder took flight.

“Did you have a good evening, then, my lady?”

“I did, Captain, yes,” she agreed thoughtfully. Coruscant was growing on her after all.

 

*

 

Obi-Wan had been granted two weeks of leave to stabilize their soulbond, but duty called. He was given a diplomatic mission in the Mid Rim.

“Master Yoda agreed that the bond seems stable enough for separation. You’ll feel it dim. Only strong emotions will be shared through the distance, but that’s expected. If anything feels wrong, if you experience migraines, mood shifts, nausea, dizzy spells, or anything out of the ordinary, go to the Temple immediately. If Master Yoda isn’t here, just tell the Guards what’s wrong and they’ll take you to a Mind Healer. Don’t take any chance.”

With these instructions in mind, but confident that nothing out of the ordinary would happen, Padmé focused on discovering Coruscant and learning about the Senate. She often went out with Dormé. Her handmaiden had joined her service during her second term. They were great friends, and Dormé was loyal. She had insisted on following her even afterward.

It was during one of those trips, ten days after Obi-Wan’s departure, that Padmé was feeling uneasy.

“Is something wrong?” Dormé asked.

“I’m not sure,” Padmé admitted, looking around covertly. They were in a commercial district, discovering galactic fashion. “I have a bad feeling, like we’re watched.”

“Should I call Captain Typho?” Dormé immediately offered.

“I… No, no, it must be my imagination,” Padmé decided and shook her head. Why would she be watched? She wasn’t the Queen anymore. While her people insisted she should still be protected due to her former status, an attempt against her would be politically useless. “Let’s continue. What do you think of this fabric?”

They wandered through the streets and ate dinner in a small restaurant. While Padmé’s bad feeling hadn’t left, she hadn’t found any reason for it and dismissed it.

It was eleven at night when they left a theater where they had seen a dance show. They were planning on walking back to their residential building.

The streets were less crowded. That’s how she briefly saw his reflection in the window. A Zabrak with red skin and black facial tattoos. She had only seen him briefly eight years ago, but she couldn’t forget him. She knew without any doubt that he was here to kill her.

“Call Captain Typho,” Padmé ordered.

“Milady?” Dormé asked while she obeyed.

“We’re followed by a very dangerous man. Stay calm. Be ready to run on my word,” Padmé explained as she took her own comlink and thought of who to call. Obi-Wan was away. Qui-Gon and Anakin had left a few days before him. That only left her one option. “Master Dooku.”

She had to wait for some nerve-wracking seconds before he took the call. She used the opportunity to angle her compact mirror to keep an eye on her tail.

“Padmé? This is quite late for a social call.”

“Master Dooku. The warrior from Tatooine. He’s following me.”

“What? Where are you?!” he asked immediately with background noise which indicated he was moving.

As she gave him the road they were on, the Zabrak disappeared from her view. She didn’t hesitate. “Run, Dormé!”

They rushed forward, cloaks billowing behind them.

“I’m on my way, Padmé!” Dooku shouted in the comlink.

“Toward the Temple!” Padmé ordered to her friend.

They were entering the Temple District when she heard their pursuer. He was getting closer.

“Decoy? Dormé asked.

“No. He knows me.” He had watched them, and she had no doubt he would kill them both without hesitation. But they couldn’t run indefinitely, they needed another tactic. “Separate and distract. Stun fire only!” He would deflect blaster fire, but it could win her some time as long as Dormé didn’t get hurt.

Dormé darted to the right, toward a statue which could offer her cover. Without surprise, the Zabrak followed Padmé who was running like Captain Panaka had unleashed all his training droids on her to the maximum setting (those damn things could burn, something fierce). Dormé waited for them to be far enough before firing at the Zabrak. She was a skilled shooter, and the warrior was forced to activate his red lightsaber to deflect the bolts, which granted Padmé a few seconds of lead.

Dormé played her role of distraction, hiding from statue to bench, to bin so the reflected bolts couldn’t touch her.

They were on one of the many esplanades, flat and open, in front of the Jedi Temple. Busy with people at day, it was desert at night except for a few passersby who screamed in fright and took cover at the pursuit.

“Attention! Public use of weapons is strictly prohibited in the Federal District! Attention!” A flying security droid appeared and tried to intercept the Zabrak. “You’re in violation of—”

The noise of a lightsaber cutting through metal followed by a small explosion told Padmé everything she needed to know without looking over her shoulder. It was a short-term solution for her pursuer though: the destruction of a security droid immediately sent alarms to the Police. Case in fact, a siren started a few streets over, followed by alarms indicating the approach of more security droids.

This was in favor. If they could all keep distracting the Zabrak so she could reach the Temple…

Her heart beat like drums in her chest. Her breath was short and fast. She ran like she was trying to beat her record at the Royal Naboo race. Her hands were going up and down for balance, up and down.

She could see the stairs to the Temple, five hundred meters away now. In fact, three Jedi were running down them. She recognized Master Dooku, and two Guards in their armors. If she could reach them… if…

She wasn’t going to reach them in time, she realized without a doubt.

He was too close, much too close. His double-bladed lightsaber lengthened his range.

“Padmé!” Dormé shouted in terror, a telltale sign that she had seen it too.

He was getting ready.

He would cut her down.

Padmé unhooked her cloak.

The garment flew back in the Zabrak’s face.

A growl of rage and annoyance.

A few more seconds won.

Not enough.

“Hey! You little shit!”

From the right corner of her eyes, Padmé saw a man run toward them. A jedi.

“Fight someone on your level, you coward!”

Cute, but he was barely closer than Dooku.

Up. She needed to go up, she realized. Reaching for her belt, she grabbed her blaster, changed the setting and fired toward the closest five meters tall statue of a cloaked jedi holding his hands up toward the city. Pulled up, she went flying. Ricocheting on the arm of the statue, she climbed to the top urgently and tried to take cover behind the head, fearing the Zabrak would follow.

He tried, but as he jumped — far higher than she could without the Force — the unknown Jedi threw his arm in his direction. The Zabrak was violently pushed back to the ground. He rolled before getting up. Dooku was on him immediately, blue lightsaber blaring.

“Lady Padmé.”

The Guards were under the statue, ready to defend her. She jumped. Her fall was softened by the Force with a wave of a gloved hand before a Guard guided her toward the stairs and the protection of the Temple. She went without protest, although the run exhausted her. She climbed the stairs as quickly as she could nonetheless, glancing over her shoulder briefly.

The unknown Jedi had joined the fight with a green lightsaber. The Zabrak was pushed back. The police siren was getting so close it was deafening. On her other side, she caught sight of Typho reaching Dormé.

The Guards didn’t let her linger to observe more. She was pulled through the security gate without a visitor pass, the guard holding her shouting: “Protection Emergency Override.”

Inside, she was led behind a pillar to keep her away from the entrance. She crouched down to finally catch her breath, calm her drumming heart and soothe her aching legs. That was a close call, she realized. The closest call she ever had, and she had had a few. The fear, held back by survival instinct until now, rushed back to the front of her mind. She put her head between her legs and tried to focus on her breath, on her core, the tree.

There were people talking hurriedly a few steps away, but she focused on the tree.

When she looked up, calmer, Master Yoda was waiting patiently in front of her. He nodded approvingly.

“The Zabrak?” she asked.

“He fled,” Master Dooku announced as he stepped around Yoda. He offered his hand to help her up. “He used a security droid to his advantage. How are you, my dear?”

“My legs feel like jelly,” she admitted. “I don’t remember ever running that fast.”

“It was quite a sight.”

With tan skin, a yellow tattoo across his cheeks and dark long hair, the Jedi who stepped forward was quite an unusual sight among his peers. He smirked at her.

“This is Master Quinlan Vos,” Master Dooku introduced him reluctantly.

“Thank you both for your help.”

Quinlan shrugged. “I couldn’t let Obi-Wan’s soulmate get cut down. He mops.” With this sarcastic comment, Quinlan left.

“Worrying this is," Yoda muttered to himself.

"The Sith are getting bolder if they dare to attack in plain view on Coruscant, and a Jedi's soulmate at that," Dooku pointed out fiercely. "They need to be stopped!"

"Meditating on this, I will. Meeting about it tomorrow, the Council will," Yoda concluded somberly before turning toward Padmé. "A target of the Sith you are. Jedi protectors you need."

“She should stay inside the Temple, Master,” Dooku suggested.

Yoda hummed and nodded. “Tonight, at least. Sharing his quarters, Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind.”

Which was how Padmé ended-up in Obi-Wan’s bed an hour later. Dormé was sleeping by her side, while Captain Typho insisted on sleeping on the couch in the living room instead of going back home.

Padmé was unable to fall asleep. She rose and tiptoed toward the shelves, looking at the datapads and plants lined up tidily. As expected from a Jedi, there was little clutter in Obi-Wan's rooms, apart from some rare keepsakes. Padmé fingered a fern with wide leaves and smiled. It was native to Naboo.

She was passing by a box labeled 'Mandalore', when her comlink lighted up with an incoming call. She reached for it immediately and was grateful to see Obi-Wan’s name. She went to the bathroom to not wake up Dormé.

“Hello?”

“Padmé. Is everything alright? I felt some vivid emotions coming from you earlier. What happened?”

She blurted out the whole affair to him, feeling lighter once she had put it in words.

“The Sith?! Force, that’s… I wanted to call earlier, but I was in the middle of negotiations.”

“It’s fine, Obi-Wan. There is nothing you can do from afar.”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’ll come back as soon as I can. I don’t think this should take much longer. A few days… A week at most. How are you?”

“Shaken,” she admitted. “I can’t sleep.”

“Where are you? Is Dooku guarding your apartment?”

“I’m in _your_ rooms, actually.”

“Mine?!”

She hummed in confirmation. “I was sleeping in your bed… or trying to.”

“I see... A wise move. No Sith will enter the Temple.”

“That’s what Master Yoda and Dooku thought.”

“Well…” He cleared his throat. “Now I’m trying to remember if I kept everything tidy before leaving.”

She laughed softly. “It’s perfectly clean and tidy.”

“Oh, good, good. That would be highly embarrassing otherwise. The first time you’re in my rooms, and I can’t even sweep the dirty socks under the bed,” he said with false seriousness.

She laughed but quieted down slowly. “Obi.”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember when you read to me?” Sometimes, when they were too tired to think of anything to talk about but too lonely to say goodbye, they just shared with each other their latest readings. Padmé remembered those times fondly.

“I do. Do you want me to?”

“Please.”

“Let me see what I’ve got here…”

While he looked for some reading material, Padmé went back to the bed, slipped between the sheets, lowered her comlink’s sound and kept it next to her ear.

“I have some local poetry — no idea what’s it’s worth — or a history of Bothawui’s colonisation.”

“The poetry, please.”

“That’s what I thought too.”

Padmé closed her eyes and fell asleep to the soft, deep voice of her soulmate reciting sonnets.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Padmé's dress is from Krikor Jabotian's couture collection of spring/summer 2015. Rebloggable on tumblr [here](http://lunaemoth.tumblr.com/post/135185838217/fashion-runways-krikor-jabotian-couture).
> 
> Let me know what you think of these turns of events. :)


	4. Chapter 4

It took five days for Obi-Wan to come home. Padmé had felt him on planet for less than an hour before he rang at her apartment’s door. After such a long separation, his proximity was obvious to her. The resonance was at play again.

“It’s Obi-Wan,” she told the Jedi who went to check.

“Is it? Don’t let him in, Aayla. Let him fret,” Quinlan said from his slouch in an armchair.

His former padawan rolled her eyes and opened the door after checking the intercom. The blue twi’lek had been assigned to Padmé’s protection. Her master had decided to come along whenever he wished to. Thankfully, Aayla knew how to deal with him and ignore him when necessary, because Padmé wasn’t confident in her ability to do so. He was… unlike anyone she was used to.

Obi-Wan stepped in and smiled at Aayla. He walked toward Padmé, caught sight of Quinlan and froze. After his initial surprise, he rolled his eyes at the man’s slouch before going for Padmé again.

She stood to hug him, and he engulfed her in his cloak.

“How are you?” he murmured.

“Better now that you’re here,” she admitted with a smile, comforted by his physical warmth and the tender affection seeping into her mind.

“Good afternoon to you too,” Quinlan quipped.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan turned around. “I’m surprised that both of you are assigned to guard duty.”

“He isn’t,” Aayla replied with a dismissive gesture toward her former master.

“Hey, I’m keeping you girls company.”

“All right, get out,” Obi-Wan demanded with a commanding gesture.

“What? No, Padmé likes me here.”

“It’s Lady Padmé to you, and no she doesn’t, she’s just too polite to say so. I have no such qualms,” Obi-Wan said as he pulled Quinlan to his feet and pushed him toward the door.

“How rude. When I went to the trouble of keeping your soulmate alive and whole for you, and everything.”

“Yes, thank you for doing the right thing by not letting a civilian die at the hands of a Sith, Quinlan. It’s very much appreciated. Now get out, you scoundrel,” Obi-Wan grumbled.

Padmé hid her amusement between a hand, but Aayla was watching the whole scene with a wide grin. When Obi-Wan closed the door, he leaned against it with a hand on his hip and the expression of someone having succeeded at the most difficult task. Padmé and Aayla both laughed. He grinned at them and straightened.

“Now, some peace at last. Tea, anyone?”

A few minutes later, they sat around the coffee table with Dormé serving tea.

“Any news from the Sith?” Obi-Wan asked Aayla.

“None. He disappeared just like he came from. No trace of him in or out of Coruscant. Every Jedi in the temple has been briefed and keep their eyes open wherever they go, but he’s nowhere to be seen.”

“I don’t like this, not when we don’t know why he went after Padmé.”

“He wanted to kill me,” Padmé said. That was her only certitude. When she had described her thoughts and feelings to the High Council during her report, Master Yoda had told her that what had urged her on had been the Force. If it was, it had been rather adamant that she would die if the Sith caught her.

“But why? You’re no longer Queen. You haven’t decided yet to be Senator.”

“Master Dooku thinks it’s due to your bond,” Aayla explained, “that the Jedi are not the only ones to know it brings change, and the Sith wants to prevent it.”

“It would explain why he attacked me now, after we met again and deepened our bond,” Padmé admitted.

“But how would he know that? You told me that only your closest friends knew about the soulbond,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“Yes.”

The only other option dawned on them all.

“There can’t be a traitor in the Temple,” Aayla was the first to deny.

Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed his brow. “It’s useless. Speculation will lead us nowhere. We simply don’t know enough.”

“Then, what will we do?” Padmé asked.

“For now, I’m staying with you,” Obi-Wan replied. “Either here or in the Temple, whichever you prefer. The Council agreed to give you special access.”

Padmé pursed her lips and raised her chin. “I’m not cowering in the Temple.”

He nodded. “I thought you’d say that. I’ll rotate with Aayla for the nights then. You still have that free guest room until Sabé arrives, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll go and grab a few things from the Temple then.”

 

*

 

“Obi-Wan?”

He hummed questioningly.

“How does Master Dooku expect us to change things exactly?”

Obi-Wan looked up from the datapad he was reading to see Padmé leaning against the window of her living room.

They had enjoyed a quiet evening together. She was dressed in a long blue nightgown over a white nightdress, her hair falling freely on her shoulders. She was the picture of elegance and softness, and Obi-Wan sometimes had to remind himself not to stare, feeling privileged to be part of her private life. If he could draw, it was this part of her he’d like to immortalize.

They would retire for the night soon, but her mind was not at ease.

Obi-Wan adjusted his light beige nightshirt while he stood to join her. “I’m not sure, and I don’t know if he has any concrete idea, really. As I said, it’s merely hope.”

“Because he thinks change is necessary.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Well… he believes that the Order has become complacent and is too submitted to the Senate. A Senate which he considers to be corrupted and ineffective.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I shall talk to him.”

“He would be happy to find an attentive ear in you.”

Obi-Wan brushed her cheek to move a few strands of hair away from her face. She looked up to meet his eyes. Her lips stretched into a soft smile, but her attention drifted back to the Senate building on the horizon.

“I do not think I should accept the Senator position considering the circumstances.”

“It would complicate things,” he admitted, “but it’s your choice.” If she really wanted to, Obi-Wan would need to be assigned to her sole protection for an undetermined amount of time, and her security team would need to be increased. Doable, but not ideal.  

She pursed her lips and nodded. “I’ll inform the Queen of my refusal tomorrow.” She turned toward her bedroom before coming back to him, her hand brushing his shirt. “Obi-Wan.”

“Yes?”

She looked up, hesitant, the bond brimming with hope, doubt, and craving. Understanding her need for contact, he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a soft embrace, kissing her hair when she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Come sit with me,” he offered.

They settled down on the large couch, legs to the side and arms tangled. Padmé’s nightgown wrapped over their laps. Her face nestled against his neck, she relaxed into his hold. The bond settled into a content hum.

“Sleep. You need your rest.” As he did eight years earlier, he guided her into sleep with a deep and soft voice.

 

Three hours later, Obi-Wan fell out of his bed in the guest room to the sound of Padmé screaming and the feeling of panic through the bond.

Swearing, he called his lightsaber to his hand and rushed into Padmé’s bedroom with Dormé and Typho. The window had been cut open. Padmé had beaten an assassination droid into submission with a blaster which must have been hidden near the bed at some point, pillows which were now completely destroyed, and a garrotte made with sheets.

Blaster in hand, Captain Typho rushed to the window to check outside while Dormé pulled Padmé in the hallway, out of range. Obi-Wan put a hand on her hip, frowning in dismay at the fact that he hadn’t felt anything in the Force. Even if he had been asleep, a danger like this would usually have woken him up, but the Force was getting too muddled on Coruscant.

“A speeder rushed away,” Typho said grimly when he joined them.

Obi-Wan watched his soulmate blow on a strand of hair sticking across her face and suggested: “The Temple?”

“I’m reconsidering,” she admitted grudgingly.

“My room in the meantime?” he offered. “I can sleep on the ground with a few blankets.”

She nodded.

 

Obi-Wan might have oversold his ability to fall asleep on only a few blankets and pillows. With Padmé unable to fall asleep at all and their bond allowing them to be aware of that fact, it wasn’t long before a hand brushed Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He turned to glance at Padmé. She shifted back in open invitation. He relented and joined her in bed.

Face to face in the dark, they were only able to see each other’s silhouette, but they didn’t need any facial clue to communicate.

Padmé reached for Obi-Wan’s hand. He squeezed it gently.

“I’m sorry you’re a target by my fault,” he admitted.

“Your fault? I don’t remember you having any more choice than I did. In fact, you have reminded me multiple times that we could stay away from each other, and I chose not to. Should I apologize for putting you in a situation where you now have to defend me?” she asked, caressing his beard and mapping out the shape of his lips.

He captured her roaming fingers and kissed them. “Of course not. You know I’m only too happy to be with you.”

“Do I? I… It feels like you’re holding back, Obi-Wan.”

“I only mean to spare you from distraction.” At the skepticism coming from her, he reconsidered. “If you insist…” He removed the filtering shield he had kept over the bond.

Padmé inhaled sharply and gave him a soft kick, her toes caressing his ankle rather than hitting it. “That is hardly what I call a distraction.”

“What would you call it?”

She embraced him. “What I wished for. I love you too, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan relaxed in relief and shifted to hold her more comfortably. “I didn’t want to compromise our friendship in case we weren’t on the same page,” he admitted.

She chuckled and rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “Always so mindful. Don’t worry. Your attentions are far from unwanted.”

Their affection for each other had never been in question. From friendly to romantic love though, there was always a step which Obi-Wan was wary of. At least he could say with absolute certainty that this romantic love was on platonic territory, for now. Neither of them was ready for that. There was no lust in their bond, just a desire for comfort and intimacy. Fulfilling that desire was filling them both with deep contentment that Obi-Wan hadn’t felt since he was a padawan hugged by his Master.

They drifted off for a while, but neither of them were able to sleep. They were unused to sleeping with company. When one of them dozed the other woke them with the slightest move.

“This looked much more comfortable in holo,” Padmé grumbled at some point. Obi-Wan emitted a drowsy snort which was strangely endearing. In the end, Padmé made the executive decision to change their position so they could spoon. Obi-Wan let her adjusted their limbs, as pliant as a rag doll. She curled into fetal position with his arm around her waist, but each of them had their own pillow and enough space to shift.

“Satisfied?” Obi-Wan mumbled, amused, when she had settled.

A curl of contentment washed up on his side of the bond, followed by a feeling of safety which pleased him more than anything. He dropped a kiss on the soft skin of a shoulder unveiled by a too large and loose collar and then settled back into his pillow.

They fell asleep together.

 

*

 

Padmé moved to the Temple the next day.

She had been granted quarters not far from Obi-Wan. The news was all over the Temple in a few hours.

Padmé was leaving her rooms after moving in when she came face to face with a young Togruta. “Oh, hello there.”

The pre-teen blushed but stood her ground. “Hello. Mh… I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Are you Master Kenobi’s Princess?” she blurted out.

Padmé raised an amused eyebrow. “Queen, in fact. Padmé Amidala Naberrie, former Queen of Naboo. And you are?”

“Ahsoka Tano, Initiate. Nice to meet you, your Highness,” the young one said, bowing briefly.

“ _ Former _ Queen, remember? Call me Padmé. Tell me, Ahsoka, could you show me to the dojo? Obi-Wan told me he would be training there.”

“He is! He was with Master Jinn when I left. Come on, I’ll show you!”

“Thank you.” Padmé had to quicken her pace to follow the eager girl along the high corridors of the Temple. “You know about Obi-Wan?” she asked curiously, wondering about the reputation of her friend and soulmate.

“Every youngling knows about Master Kenobi! He often comes at the crèches, and he gives lightsaber lessons to Initiates. He’s one of the best practitioners of Soresu, you know! I mean… Soresu is—”

“Form 3 of lightsaber combat, principally defensive,” Padmé recited. “Obi-Wan is also competent in Ataru, form 4, an acrobatic combat style. It had his preference when we first met. It’s very impressive to watch, but he found it unreliable once he was sent on solo missions as a Knight and had to face several enemies.” At Ahsoka’s surprise, Padmé raised an eyebrow.

“That’s… You… I didn’t know you talked about that,” the girl admitted before wincing at her own admission that she had considered their relationship.

“We talk about everything.” From the politics of Naboo to Obi-Wan’s missions, the only things they hadn’t shared during their regular communications had been the classified details. They had learned that explaining their issues to someone who knew nothing of their daily life often brought them new understanding and solutions.

Of course, Padmé was hardly qualified to comment on Obi-Wan’s lightsaber combat techniques. However, when Obi-Wan had been knighted, he had been on bad terms with Qui-Gon for several years, and he had needed a second opinion. So Padmé had patiently listened to his explanations and agreed that he needed a more defensive approach now that he worked solo. Really, she had simply been his sounding board at the time (and he returned the favor more than once afterward), but she had listened attentively. It was hardly a hardship. The Jedi lifestyle was fascinating.

“That must be really nice,” Ahsoka whispered enviously.

“Obi-Wan is a wonderful friend.”

“Just a friend?” The togruta’s cheeks colored as Padmé’s eyebrows rose with amusement. “I-I mean… He’s… You know… very… Well… I’m just saying you two make a very cute couple!”

Padmé chuckled. “He is, and his friendship is more important to me.”

“Of course! I didn’t mean… You know, that uh… Oh, Force, I’m just going to shut up now.”

Padmé was still grinning when they stepped inside the dojo, a group of training rooms of all sizes and shapes for a multitude of purposes. Ahsoka led her toward a door marked ‘Observation bridge - Master Training Room 2’. After climbing a few stairs, Padmé stepped in a glazed hall. Anakin was already there. He glanced at her distractedly, did a double check and then bowed.

“Padmé.”

Pleased that he had greeted her by her first name, she dismissed his bow and went for a hug. He welcomed it awkwardly, patting her shoulder just a bit too long.

“Good afternoon, Anakin. I see you’re back.”

“We arrived this morning. Master Jinn thought Obi-Wan needed to get his frustrations out.” He glanced toward the door. “Hello there. You can come in.”

“Oh, no, I should go,” Ahsoka said immediately and waved toward Padmé. “Uh, goodbye!”

“Did I scare her?” Anakin asked when she was gone, worried.

“No, I think it’s the embarrassment,” Padmé assured him, amused, as she watched her soulmate and Qui-Gon twirl downstairs. “I’m pretty sure she’s chiding herself for calling Obi-Wan and I a ‘cute couple’, between other things. She’s sweet.”

“Oh.” The silence settled between them for a minute before Anakin blurted out: “Obi-Wan isn’t cute.”

Padmé burst into laughter.

“It’s true!”

“You make such adorable brothers,” Padmé commented between giggles.

“He’s not my brother! He’s… an irritating grandpa, at best.”

In the training room, Obi-Wan gestured to his opponent and stopped, looking up at the observation bridge curiously. Padmé felt and looked like she had a fit of the giggles, while Anakin was pouting.

“Well, they seem to get along,” Qui-Gon commented after following his stare. He smiled, amused by the way his padawan stepped out of the observation bridge and climbed down the stairs to join them in a huff.

“Your soulmate is the worst.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “Really? I quite like her.” He gave a thumbs-up to Padmé, purely for Anakin’s benefit since he sent his approval through their bond. The next second, he jumped away from a kick and blocked Anakin’s incoming lightsaber. “Oh, looking for a fight, are we? You only needed to ask, Anakin. It would be my pleasure to wipe the floor with you.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Obi-Wan was exhausted, but the calmest he had been since he had learned that his soulmate was in danger. He went to join Padmé on the observation bridge, smoothing down his hair slicked with sweat.

“Did you move in without trouble?” he asked her. She had insisted she didn’t help to tidy her rooms once every suitcase had been brought.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.

Obi-Wan breathed deeply to calm his heart rate and blinked, bemused by her inattention. He checked on their bond to understand it. The blush due to his exertion deepened, and he cleared his throat in surprise. That had definitely been a hint of lust.

Realizing she had been caught, Padmé turned pink as well, but she held her ground and rose her chin. “May I kiss you?”

Obi-Wan gave his silent agreement and tilted his head down to make it easier. Padmé’s kiss was light and soft, a test of the act in itself.

Neither of them had much experience with romance. Padmé only had a childhood crush. As a Queen, she had felt it wouldn’t have been appropriate, and she hadn’t been interested at the time. Obi-Wan had had some experience with Satine, but that had been limited. They had discussed this a year ago when Padmé had related how she had to turn down the advances of a Senator. She never kissed anyone. Knowing this, Obi-Wan was determined on letting her set the pace of their relationship.

Padmé pulled back, pursed her lips for a moment, and then came back for another try, slightly longer but not by much. This time she was smiling and touched her lips. “Your beard tickles,” she admitted.

“Is it a bad thing?”

“Mh... No.” She brushed the back of her fingers against his beard and then adjusted a strand of red hair falling in his eyes. “You look good disheveled, too. Now,  _ that  _ is a bad thing for my self-control,” she commented before turning toward the stairs.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat again, smoothed his hair back and mumbled to himself before following her: “And for mine.”

 

*

 

Finding information about the Sith and why Padmé was targeted was a priority but not an easy task. More than a week later, Obi-Wan was pondering over the futility of it while eating lunch when he got sudden company.

“Is your soulmate leaving you for your grandmaster?” Quinlan asked as he sat opposite him. “What, you aren’t political enough for her?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and pointedly didn’t look to the queue where Dooku and Padmé were getting food while discussing animatedly, just like they had been for the last week. “Good morning to you too, Quinlan.”

“So, ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me what I have found about the price on your pretty little soulmate’s head.”

Obi-Wan looked up sharply. “You found something?” At Quinlan’s raised eyebrows, he sighed and reformulated: “What did you find, Master of the Underworld?”

“Your dear little Padmé is ranking in the top 10 bounties of the moment. Whoever wants her dead wants it badly and has the means to back it up. So, Siths are rich, good to know,” Quinlan commented off-handedly before biting in a piece of bread.

“Wonderful, because they weren’t deadly enough. Still, if they put on a bounty, it means they changed tactics after attacking her directly.”

“It’s no wonder after it made the headlines. ‘ _ A former queen attacked by Sith in front of the Jedi temple _ ’,” he quoted with the voice of a newscaster. “ _ And _ they failed. Not exactly an occasion you want to repeat as publicity stunts go, right?”

“True. Anything else?”

“There aren’t too many bounty hunters willing to encroach on the home turf of Jedi, so she’s pretty safe here, in theory. However, there is a well-known one who isn’t afraid of Jedi, and rumor has it that he’s on Coruscant.”

“Who?”

“Jango Fett. Mandalorian.”

“Where can we meet him?” Padmé asked as she sat beside Obi-Wan with her tray of food. Dooku sat opposite her, next to Quinlan, although neither of them looked pleased by that.

“No,” Obi-Wan said immediately.

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you expect me to stay cooped up inside infinitely? As lovely as your temple is, I will not.”

“Of course not, but you aren’t going anywhere near the bounty hunter hired to kill you. I will talk to the Council and handle it.” She met his eyes in challenge, but he held his ground. “Please, Padmé, let me handle it.”

“Very well,” she relented and reached for her cutlery.  

“That’s it?” Quinlan asked. He had pushed back in his seat, ready for a good show. He slouched in disappointment.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and gestured between him and Padmé with his fork. “Soulmates, remember? Soulbond, same wavelength, and all that?”

“Boring,” Quinlan concluded before standing. “I’ll leave you to your politics.”

“What I don’t understand is the mission process,” Padmé said as soon as he was away, starting her conversation with Dooku anew. “The Senate or the Chancellor ask for assistance, and the Council says yes or no? But in practice, they always say yes, that’s what you’re saying.”

“Indeed, my dear, indeed.”

“That hardly seems usual for an independent organization. What of the missions which aren’t coming from the Senate?”

“Mostly missions related to the Jedi Order’s history or prerogatives, such as dealing with darksiders.”

“Any independent requests which aren’t from the Senate?”

“They are few and far between. Too often, those requests are redirected toward the Senate because the Order lacks the manpower to investigate on its own, in part because we are to the beck and call of the Senate.”

“And so no-one will contact directly the Jedi, knowing that they will be redirected.”

“Exactly.”

“Why are all requests from the Senate accepted?”

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Obi-Wan asked, intervening for the first time in the conversation and feeling a bit unnerved when Padmé and Dooku turned toward him with similar expressions of interrupted focus. “The Senate doesn’t make requests without motives.”

“The issue is not the futility of the requests,” Dooku started.

“It’s the order of priority which can be questionable,” Padmé continued.

“While the Council can and does prioritize some over others...” Dooku admitted.

“What about those the Senate didn’t deem worthy to be sent to the Jedi? Should it really be to the Senate to decide this? Shouldn’t every request, every need for the Jedi, be investigated by a truly independent and competent authority, regardless of their origin?”

“The current situation doesn’t allow this.”

“As such, it’s unequal, and it goes against the independence of the Order,” Padmé concluded.

“I see,” Obi-Wan murmured, stroking his beard.

“An interesting assessment.” Mace Windu stopped by their table. He observed them impassively.

“Greetings Master Windu,” Padmé said without hesitation. “Would you like to join us? We got carried away by our debate, but the terrine is lovely if you haven’t eaten yet. I never had something quite like it.”

“... I already ate, thank you,” Master Windu replied, but he sat down on the chair left open by Quinlan. “What would you recommend, Lady Padmé?”

“A screening commission, with three to five people — more and it slows everything down — including Jedi experts in diplomacy and intelligence as well as at least one independent expert in politics,” Padmé replied immediately. “Every request would be treated in the same way regardless of their origin. All of them would be verified by intelligence reports. The most sensitive and urgent would be sent immediately to the Council for deliberation, while the others would be screened for alternatives and consequently prioritized.”

“An ambitious suggestion, but we hardly have enough intelligence specialists for this,” Mace replied.

Dooku immediately pounced. “And why is that? For decades we have been delegating this task — a crucial one may I add — to the Republic. I can personally recall quite a few instances where such screening would have avoided unfortunate consequences—”

“Yes, Dooku, thank you,” Mace interrupted, raising a hand. “I will present your suggestion to the High Council,” he said and stood up.

Padmé stood with him. “Thank you, Master Windu, for taking it in consideration,” she said and bowed.

Mace nodded and left.

“Well done, my dear,” Dooku said to Padmé as she sat down.

“You two are the most politically savvy pair the Order has seen in years,” Obi-Wan commented, resting his chin on his fist. “I’m pretty sure Master Windu is having second thoughts in letting you two in easy reach from one another.”

“Why, Obi-Wan, thank you. Such high compliments,” Dooku said with a chuckle. “I do like to give Mace a headache from time to time. It keeps him on his toes. Now, forgive me my dears, Jocasta has arrived.” He left to spend the rest of his lunch with the Master Archivist, his friend.

Padmé and Obi-Wan finished lunch in companionable silence only interrupted by a few comments on the food. They hadn’t chosen the same dessert, and they were exchanging half of theirs when some Initiates passed by, talking loudly and horsing around. One of them knocked into the table. The pitcher of water near the edge tipped over. 

Obi-Wan held out his open palm. The pitcher froze, but the water leaked out and splashed onto the Initiate who had turned around with a squeak and an outstretched hand. The young Togruta froze, her leggings completely wet, looked up, met Obi-Wan’s eyes and blushed fiercely.

“I’m so sorry!” she squeaked.

“Be more careful, Initiate,” Obi-Wan admonished her gently.

“That’s quite all right, Ahsoka,” Padmé replied at the same time.

Obi-Wan moved the pitcher back on the table. He glanced at his soulmate, surprised that she knew the young one. While he had taught the Togruta, Padmé was new in the Temple.

“Ahsoka helped me to navigate the Temple,” Padmé replied to his confusion.

“I-I should go change,” the girl stuttered and turned away in embarrassment.

Padmé stared at Obi-Wan. He hesitated, unsure what she expected from him, until he got the sudden urge to say something nice.

“Initiate,” he called. “Mh… Ahsoka. Well done with your use of the Force.”

Ahsoka turned around hesitantly. “But you’re the one who caught it.”

“You’d have caught it before it broke if I hadn’t. That’s a good reaction time. Well done.”

The girl’s lips stretched into a bright smile. “Thank you Master Kenobi!” She ran away after her friends, bouncing excitedly.

Padmé kissed Obi-Wan’s cheek in approval.

“That was some nice telepathy,” Obi-Wan approved. Rudimentary telepathy, but still, he hadn’t expected their bond to be strong enough for such a feat yet. “May I know what brought it on?”

“She looks up to you. Apparently, you have a reputation as a very sought after Master.”

“Do I?”

“Why didn’t you take a Padawan yet?” she asked, leaning against his side.

He adjusted their position in a more comfortable one with an arm around her shoulders and admitted thoughtfully: “I have been thinking about it more and more this last year, but there was always a mission to keep me occupied. I suppose that now I’ll spend more time on Coruscant, I could...”  

His attention drifted as he pondered it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I describe Padmé in her nightgown, I'm thinking of this scene in Attack of the Clones: [Photoset](http://fuckyeahpadmeamidala.tumblr.com/post/55545036043/ill-go-with-you-that-way-you-can-continue-to) \- [Gifset](http://fuckyeahpadmeamidala.tumblr.com/post/154778349052#notes)
> 
> *moves her pieces one after the other* A wild Ahsoka appears! Oh, and a Jango has been spotted!  
> Thoughts on that? :3


	5. Chapter 5

“You may pursue and interrogate Jango Fett,” Mace told Obi-Wan after a meeting of the High Council. “Take Master Vos with you.”

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement, pleased by the mission and resigned to his partner. He went to bow, but Mace wasn’t finished.

“I’d like to remind you of our discussion on discretion, Obi-Wan.”

“Master?”

“Your shows of affection to your soulmate should stay... contained in public.”

Obi-Wan was hard-pressed to remember when it hadn’t been so. Padmé and he were hardly effusive in public... Oh. He might have embraced Padmé in the refectory, the day before. A slip of attention. “I’ll endeavor to keep it in mind, Master.”

“Please do. No need to give any more fuel to the rumors.”

“Rumors of what?”

Mace hesitated before admitting: “There are some concerns that your relationship could build resentment or jealousy among others.”

“I see.” Obi-Wan scratched his beard and went to leave, thoughtful. He turned around before he could reach the door of the High Council chamber. “When I was newly knighted, you once advised me not to let jealousy and resentment cloud my opinion of Anakin. Did you ask him not to flaunt his relationship with Qui-Gon?”

“I did not,” Mace admitted, “but he was a child and hardly responsible for the situation.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Obi-Wan agreed, “but Padmé and I aren’t responsible for this one either.” He stood straighter, his hands inside his sleeves. “You can rest assured that I won’t flaunt my relationship with Padmé, but it won’t be because I try to hide for the sake of others, it’s simply our preference. So if resentment and jealousy ever become an issue, let it be known that I personally found meditation under a waterfall very helpful.” The cold water had cleared his head and beat him up like a battering ram. Brutal but efficient.

When Mace failed to reply immediately, Obi-Wan bowed low and left.

Quinlan was already waiting for him in the hallway, leaning against a wall with a leg folded and his arms crossed. He fell into step behind Obi-Wan when he passed by without stopping.

“Oooh, someone is in a mood. What’s wrong? The Council is keeping you under key with your princess?”

“No. We’re going to find Fett.”

“Good. So?”

“Did you hear anyone complain about Padmé and me?” Obi-Wan asked as they stepped into a turbolift. If anyone would know, it would be Quinlan and his knack for gossip.

“Ah,” Quinlan said in understanding. “Well, sure, there are always some boring bags of bones around here. They can’t complain about your bond though, since it’s the will of the Force and all that jazz. So they complain about decorum, propriety, etiquette and what not…  They’ll nitpick about everything you do, but don’t fret about it. You two are the most proper couple I have ever seen, it’s depressing. I mean, seriously. Do you even have sex?”

Obi-Wan turned fully to face Quinlan with raised eyebrows and an unimpressed expression.

“Come on, I know this isn’t your alley. If you need to talk about it…”

“You’ll be the last person I choose.”

“We both know that’s a lie. I’m the only competent one apart from your master, and it’s not like you’d talk to him about it, so...”

“No.” The turbolift opened, and Obi-Wan stepped out immediately. He was already regretting this partnership, and the mission hadn’t even started. Wonderful.

“As you wish, man. The offer stands.”

 

*

 

Dormé carefully adjusted the hood around Padmé’s face to make sure she was hidden in the shadow of her heavy grey coat. It was the first time Padmé was leaving the temple since the assassination attempt in her apartment. Captain Typho was tense and vigilant in the driving seat of the speeder.

“Are you sure about this?” Dormé asked.

“Yes. As competent as Obi-Wan is, the Jedi’s habit of refusing backup is ridiculous,” Padmé grumbled.

“He just wants to keep you safe, Milady,” Typho pointed out. “ _You_ ’re the target.”

“All the more reason for me to help instead of staying cooped up.”

Dormé and Typho shared a look in the rear-view mirror. They both knew that when the former Queen was in this mood there was little they could do to change her mind. Ten minutes ago, they had met her at the Jedi Temple’s entrance after she had gotten into an argument with her soulmate, and she was now determined to prove her point.

R2-D2 beeped. Typho read the speeder’s translator. “Their ship is landing. Let’s go.”

They left their speeder parked in a private spot to step into the spaceport of the Federal District. They waited only a few minutes in the area for arrivals before three young women appeared with their luggage.

“Sabé, Eirtaé, Cordé, I’m so glad to see you!” Padmé hugged each of her friends. “You arrived just in time!”

“Don’t you love it when she says that?” Eirtaé commented sarcastically. “It’s not like we got a call that she had nearly been assassinated on the stairs of the Jedi Temple and had to drop everything to rush to defend her. Now she cheerfully welcomes us with the smile of an opee sea killer.”

“Oh, I’m glad I mended my battlesuit during the flight then,” Cordé said to Dormé after kissing her cheek.

“What’s wrong?” Sabé asked as she patted R2-D2’s dome in greeting and then shook Captain Typho’s hand.

“My soulmate is being reckless.”

“Ah! Nice pleonasm,” Eirtaé mocked while pulling her suitcase toward the exit. “ _Your_ soulmate, reckless? I can’t imagine it!”

“Hey.” Padmé nudged her playfully. “He’s gone to find who is after me. He just needs some backup.”

Her friend lightened up reluctantly, but she couldn’t stay crossed very long with her former Queen. She sighed theatrically. “All right, let’s go save the pretty boy.”

“Is he really pretty?” Cordé murmured to Dormé, who nodded in confirmation and mimed a beard and long hair before doing a thumbs up. “That’s nice. I promised Rabé to take a holo of them together.”

“How is Rabé?” Padmé asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“She’s doing great. She loves the music academy,” Sabé supplied helpfully. Rabé and she were best friends. “She is rehearsing for her first concert.”

“We should all go together one day.”

“Will Obi-Wan come?” Sabé demanded innocently.

“I’m sure he would if he can. He likes music too.”

“Of course he does,” Eirtaé commented with a fondly exasperated sigh.

 

*

 

“Isn’t this fun?” Quinlan shouted over the sound of blaster fire.

Obi-Wan threw himself against a wall for cover, sighed and rolled his eyes. “Your definition of fun is extremely questionable!”

“Yeah? Would you rather be brooding about your fight with your soulmate?” Quinlan demanded from the other side of the alley. They were trying to catch Jango Fett, but the bounty hunter had some allies willing to have his back against Jedi, and they had the advantage of the territory since they were in the Lower Levels of Coruscant.

“Yes, actually! Thank you for asking.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi being attached. Shame on you.”

“Do you really want to debate about the Code during a firefight?” Obi-Wan shouted in exasperation while deflecting a bolt which had gotten too close.

“That would be inconvenient. Don't make me yawn in boredom!” Quinlan darted out and reflected a shot at its sender, which allowed him to cover some more ground.

Following behind, Obi-Wan cursed when he had to roll behind a barrel. A whisper of the Force called his attention upward. “Cover me!” He jumped against the opposite wall, rebounded and with some extra push from the Force caught the edge of a balcony on the second floor. Jumping on it, he caught sight of his target on a catwalk a floor above. “Jango Fett! I have some questions!”

“Keep them, Jedi,” was his reply, followed by a well-placed shot.

Obi-Wan dodged and jumped after the fleeing bounty hunter. Quinlan joined him a moment later. They turned sharply three times in a row. Fett was being crafty to lose them.

“Kark. This road leads to a landing pad, we’re going to lose him!” Quinlan warned.

Indeed, Fett was running toward a speeder, and there was little chance they could catch him on time. However, before Fett could reach safety, two humanoids jumped from behind the vehicle and four more moved out of the buildings' shadows with blasters drawn.

“Put your weapon down. Remove your helmet. Hands up,” one of them commanded. All of them were hidden under cloaks with deep hoods.

Fett hesitated.

A shot hit his leg which immediately buckled under him. A stunning shot. His muscles had cramped.

The leader stepped forward and pulled her hood back. “I said, put your weapon down, your helmet off, and your hands up,” Padmé repeated firmly.

Fett complied.

Obi-Wan put his hands on his hips to catch his breath. He cursed, loudly. “Damn it, Padmé.”

Quinlan cackled and then burst into laughter. “See. See! That’s more like it!” He pointed at Padmé and smirked at Obi-Wan. “Now, that’s more what I was expecting from your soulmate!”

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Obi-Wan drawled before moving through the handmaidens and Captain Typho to face Fett. He threw a wave of displeasure and worry toward Padmé.

She replied with determination and stubbornness.

He added some fond exasperation to make his point.

In front of Fett, they were the picture of a united couple, staring him down sternly.

“Like I said, I have some questions,” Obi-Wan said, crouching down gracefully to be at Fett’s level. “The number one of which: would you kindly stop trying to kill my soulmate? It makes her cranky.”

“Does it?” Padmé wondered.

“The second of which being: could you tell whoever hired you to stop trying to kill my soulmate? It makes _me_ cranky.”

“It does,” Padmé admitted.

Quinlan groaned in fake disgust at their banter. On his left, Eirtaé made a face but stayed silent.

“I didn't try to kill her,” Fett replied, unblinking. To his credit, it didn't sound like a complete lie to Obi-Wan.

“I find that hard to believe,” Quinlan said. “You’re the best on the market.”

“Which is why she would already be dead if I had,” Fett remarked snidely.

“Let’s admit that we believe you,” Obi-Wan intervened while smoothing his hair back. “Who else could it be?”

“Why would I tell you?

“If you talk, we might not feel obliged to drag you to the police,” Quinlan offered.

Fett snorted. “They can’t hold me for long.”

“But long enough to worry your child,” Padmé piped up, to everyone’s surprise.

“I don’t have any kids, Lady.”

“The toy in your back right pocket says otherwise. That’s a flying miniature Firefly starfighter, I believe. My nieces have the same. It’s trendy, but out of stock everywhere else than Coruscant. I had to ship it to them.”

“I collect them,” Fett replied sharply.

Padmé raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you do.”

“Yeaaah, you’ll talk about your collection with your cellmates when you’ll be forgotten there for the next 48h,” Quinlan offered.

“And if I tell you, I won’t?” Fett asked, disbelieving.

“You have our word that we’ll let you go free if you tell us who is after Padmé,” Obi-Wan promised.

The bounty hunter sighed but relented. “The name is Ventress. She’s new, but word is that she has a grudge against Jedi.”

“Geez, who doesn’t, these days?” Quinlan sighed.

“You make it easy,” Fett remarked snidely.

Quinlan lifted his hands to the sky and walked away. “Everyone’s a critic.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Fett,” Padmé said before moving out of the way to the speeder, her staff following her example.

“You believe him?” Eirtaé asked once they were gathered together and Fett had left.

“Hard to say,” Obi-Wan admitted. “He didn't lie outright, but I couldn’t read him. The Force is getting more and more muddled on Coruscant. Quinlan?”

“He has a point. He’s the best bounty hunter on the market, and the night attack on Padmé in her apartment doesn’t exactly register as high class to me. Assassination droids are a cheap trick for an experienced assassin,” Quinlan pondered. “But he could have subcontracted Ventress, and, when she failed to be worth it, decided to sell her to us to lower our guard.”

“It’s a good thing we’re tracking his speeder, then,” Padmé concluded before opening Obi-Wan’s cloak and removing a small device from one of his pockets.

“You tracked me,” Obi-Wan realized, offended. “That’s how you found us. You put a tracker on me.”

“Everyone needs backup, Obi-Wan. If you had agreed to keep in touch, I wouldn’t have felt the need to make sure you don’t end up in a cesspool,” she remarked firmly. “Do you think you’re the only one allowed to worry?”

“I… No, sorry,” he admitted, smoothing his tunics. “... Still, I can’t believe you put a tracker on me!”

 

*

 

In the evening, Padmé found her soulmate in the Archives and sat beside him at a table. “Captain Typho reported that they lost Fett. The tracker was found and dropped.”

Obi-Wan sighed and massaged his neck. “Of course. That would have been too easy, I suppose.”

“Are you still upset with me?”

“Wouldn’t you be if our roles were reversed?” he asked with a raised eyebrow before shaking his head. “I’m not really upset, you know that, just… miffed.”

“I am sorry. You’re right, tracking you without your knowledge wasn’t right,” she admitted, “but personally I didn’t appreciate the way you dismissed outright my suggestion to back you up with my staff. As we have proven, we’re perfectly able to support Jedi without hampering you.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Yes, you have made your point." He scratched his beard, thoughtful. As soon as he had had the time, he had meditated about this and concluded that his habits as a solitary and independent Jedi would need to be amended to include his soulmate. "I recognize that I might have been wrong, and I suppose this conflict of opinions was bound to happen considering the circumstances. Still, if we could avoid such demonstrations in the future and settle this amicably...?”

She smiled lopsidedly. “I make no promise, but I will always accept your submission.”

Before Obi-Wan could react with fond exasperation, a deep voice came from behind them: “Wow, am I interrupting something?!”

Obi-Wan groaned and looked over his shoulder. “Not _that_ kind of submission, Quinlan.”

The cheeky Master showed his palms. “Hey, I’m not judging, man.”

“Please, get your mind out of the gutter.”

Padmé, who had been baffled until now, blessed her innocent heart, started to blush. She stood up and made a hasty retreat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Obi-Wan. Have a good night.”

Quinlan took her place with an interested glance at her back before turning toward Obi-Wan with a knowing look. “The offer is still standing.”

“And the answer is still no. Is there something you wanted? Do you have news?”

“I started to ask about a Ventress, but nothing yet. If she’s new it might take some time. I’m curious about Fett though. There were rumors that he had gone to ground these last years. It’s strange that he reappeared just now.”

“It might have something to do with his child. He took care of them until now and got back to work when they were old enough.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Quinlan agreed. “That would make the kid around eight years old... What are you looking at?”

“Iridonia.” He hadn't been very focused on the research. It wasn't the first time he was looking this planet up, he was just refreshing his memories.

“You’re thinking about that Zabrak Sith? What makes you think he isn’t a Nightbrother from Dathomir?”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Nightbrother? I thought there were only Nightsisters on Dathomir?”

Quinlan snorted and patted his shoulder. “How do you think they reproduce? _They_ know everything about submission.”

“Oh, just shut up.” Obi-wan sighed, exasperated. Once he was blissfully alone, he changed his research to Dathomir. A Sith coming from that Dark place would make sense.

 

*

 

“You let her leave the temple?!”

“I’m sorry, Anakin, where did I lose you when I said that she did it all on her own?”

“You should have thought of that before!”

“And what? Lock up my soulmate in her rooms?”

Anakin dodged a lightsaber strike and parried Obi-Wan’s next attack. “Well, no, but…”

“Why don’t you focus on your defense and let me handle my soulmate, uh?” Obi-Wan suggested.

“You don’t seem to be handling much of anyth—oof.” A high kick connected with Anakin’s chest. The padawan’s back hit the floor heavily while his lightsaber flew in Obi-Wan’s outstretched hand. Trying to catch his breath, Anakin rolled on his side and pointed at his sibling. “That was cheating.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Anakin,” Obi-Wan cooed while posing with a lightsaber in each hand. “Was that too much to handle?”

“Are you both quite done, my padawans?” Qui-Gon intervened with a fondly exasperated expression, his hands hidden in his crossed sleeves. “Master Yoda and the initiates will join us soon. I dare hope you won’t make such a spectacle of yourselves in front of an audience.”

“Of course not, Obi-Wan—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Anakin, and kindly remind you that I’m holding your lightsaber. If your next words include a joke about my relationship with my soulmate, you’ll have to hunt down the pieces of your precious weapon in the whole Temple… again.”

Anakin spread his hands and made the most innocent expression he could manage. “Me? I would neither.”

Fortunately for Anakin’s lightsaber, Master Yoda entered the training room with a small group of initiates. The Grand Master made the younglings introduce themselves before pairing them for lightsaber matches. The four elders stood together on one side of the room to observe the fights.

“So, that’s your prospective padawans?” Anakin whispered to Obi-Wan. Now that they weren’t alone anymore, they were close to each other with easy familiarity and complete trust. “Anyone in particular you’re interested in?”

“Padmé likes the Togruta, Ahsoka, who is the best student I have had in my classes in a while,” Obi-Wan admitted. “And I have seen the human girl, Bene, during her diplomacy lessons, she has a sharp mind and good control of her emotions.”

“So, the Togruta then,” Anakin concluded and dodged an elbow to the ribs.

Bene went first in the matches. While she had a good defense, her skills in lightsaber combat were quite average.

“Definitely the Togruta,” Anakin insisted smugly.

“Combat skills are hardly the decisive factor,” Obi-Wan said with a roll of his eyes.

“Are you kidding me? You’re one of the best fighters in the Order! Your padawan should be too. Anything else would be a waste.”

“Obi-Wan is also one of our best negotiators,” Qui-Gon commented.

“Anyone can be a good negotiator,” Anakin muttered.

Obi-Wan snorted, Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, and Yoda chuckled at that.

“What?” Anakin protested.

“Oh, the irony,” Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head.

“I’m a good negotiator!” Anakin insisted, realizing it was a slight against him.

Master Yoda poked him with his stick. “Focus you should, or upset the younglings you will.”

Ignoring Anakin’s pout, Obi-Wan focused on the matches. Choosing a padawan was a solemn and serious task to him. He wanted to make the right choice, for himself and the younglings. He remembered how difficult it had been for him when he had been in their shoes, hoping to catch the eye of a Master, and his  disappointment when he hadn’t been the one chosen.

Ahsoka Tano stepped forward for her duel and surprised him when she used a reverse grip. She had never done that in their lessons.

“That’s weird,” Anakin commented.

“A difficult habit to break,” Qui-Gon added. He made it sound like a dealbreaker.

The next minute, Anakin was leaning forward with a forearm on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “She’s good,” he approved. “See, I told you—”

“Quiet,” Obi-Wan ordered. With a hand smoothing his beard, he was staring at the combat intently. Both initiates were good. Yoda had paired them all with the right opponent to show off their skills, and this fight, the last one, was also the longest. Ahsoka’s opponent had a shorter temper, however, less control of his emotions, which was a dealbreaker for Obi-Wan. He had had enough of that with Anakin.

All in all, those combats had confirmed his short list of Bene and Ahsoka. The later was without any doubt the better fighter. She won the fight.

“Thank you, younglings,” Yoda said to the small group. “Go, you may. Discuss we must before an answer you get.”

The initiates bowed and left. They threw some hopeful looks over their shoulders to try to judge Obi-Wan’s expression.

“Ahsoka Tano, definitely,” Anakin insisted as soon as they were alone. “Come on, you know I’m right.”

“Did she talk about her wishes with you, Master Yoda?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Learning Jar’Kai young Ahsoka wishes.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” The use of two lightsabers just made sense for the girl. Seeing her fight, it felt like she was missing half her weapons.

“It seems the logical next step for her,” Qui-Gon agreed. “She has already found her way, it seems.”

“How is that a bad thing?” Anakin asked, confused.

“When did you ever see me practice Jar’Kai, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, exasperated. “I wouldn’t be able to guide her properly. I won’t be a good feat for—” He hissed when Master Yoda’s stick poked his calf.

“Too quick to dismiss your own skills you are. Combat skills not a decisive factor you said yourself. Master Drallig’s lessons exist for this reason.”

“Planning to send my padawan to another Master is hardly the way I had hoped to start this,” Obi-Wan pointed out sourly. “Bene might not have the same raw talent, but I would be able to help her more, I think.”

“Make your mind now you shouldn’t. Think about it you need to.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan agreed.

The small GrandMaster left, bringing Anakin with him for a demonstration to the younglings. Obi-Wan turned toward Qui-Gon.

“What do you think? You have been quiet.”

“They both seem promising. The choice is yours to make, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan groaned. “That’s not very helpful.”

Qui-Gon chuckled, put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I can tell you this: whoever you choose will be lucky to have you as a Master. I have no doubt you’ll be a great one.”

“... Thank you.” Obi-Wan bowed his head but hid how much it meant to him to have this reassurance. While Qui-Gon had apologized for the way his apprenticeship had ended and Obi-Wan had forgiven him, the self-doubt it had brought was still hard to quell.

"Better than me, I'm sure," Qui-Gon added thoughtfully.

Obi-Wan looked up, startled. "Master?"

"I was... arrogant when I first took on Xanathos," Qui-Gon admitted, "and, I have come to realize, when I asked to take on Anakin also. I did it for the wrong reasons, and by doing so I made costly mistakes. I'm glad to say that you haven't followed in my footsteps in this regard. You want to be a good teacher more than you want the right student. It's a state of mind I have failed at. It's what tells me you'll be a better Master than I ever was for you."

Left mute by a lump in his throat, Obi-Wan was unable to find any answer to this anyway. It was rare for Qui-Gon, who lived in the present as much as possible, to admit his mistakes and talk about the past. That he complimented and reassured Obi-Wan at the same time... Well... It had to be savored.

"I'll do my best," Obi-Wan promised when he got his voice under control.

"I never doubted that." Qui-Gon raised a hand, cupped the back of Obi-Wan's neck and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'm proud of you, Obi-Wan."

Despite more than thirty years of experience, Obi-Wan had to fight back tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got "Queen's Shadow" from E.K. Johnston (a book about Padmé?! I had to get it right away!), and I'll start to read it soon. I might be influenced by it in later chapters, but since this fic is already advanced, it won't be compliant.
> 
> Did anyone read it yet? Let me know about that and what you thought of this chapter (Qui-Gon's speech wasn't planned, but he decided he had a few things to say).


	6. Chapter 6

Difficult decisions were something Obi-Wan was familiar with, but no choice had ever been this hard before, he was sure of it. Taking a padawan was personal, and he was ready for it — or at least he liked to believe so — but ready for who exactly?

Obi-Wan paced in his rooms like a gundark in cage. He made a disgusted noise at himself as he rubbed his face. If Anakin could see him right now, it would certainly ruin the perfect image the teen had of him.

Padmé was watching him patiently, sitting on the couch with her legs under her and an elbow on the armest.

“I don’t know whom to choose,” Obi-Wan admitted, rolling his head with a deep sigh. “I meditated over this for an hour, and I’m not closer to the answer.”

“Was that what you did before I arrived, with all the doubts and fretting?” she asked, a bit amused despite the seriousness of the situation. It was unusual to see her soulmate so frazzled nowadays. She remembered a time when he would contact her in this state of mind, but with experience and maturity, this seemed to happen less and less.

“It was not a very successful meditation,” Obi-Wan confessed. He scratched at his beard, annoyed by his failure, and pondered which meditation would help the most. If he had failed to reach calm through the Meditation of Emptiness, maybe Alchaka would be better. He was restless and a moving meditation might help with this.

“I’d say,” Padmé commented while he mused. “Why don’t you try it again? I’ll do it with you.”

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. Padmé had been taught Empty Meditation by Master Yoda and practiced it daily to strengthen her core, but they had never done it together. An oversight, he realized. Shared meditation could be instructive and a great help when one failed to center themselves on their own.

“Come on,” Padmé insisted, leading him by the hand toward the pillows left in front of the windows. She had removed her shoes, and her long skirt swished around her. He liked the soft sound and elegant sight.

They sat cross-legged, closed their eyes and focused on their breathing.

Once again, Obi-Wan had difficulties emptying his mind. Emotions and thoughts, not all of them clear, were vying for his attention. Any attempt to empty his mind was extremely short-lived.

Padmé fell in a deeper, more stable meditative state in a matter of minutes. Her calm, serenity and love washed over him, pushing away his doubt, fear, and apprehension. He was swept in a comforting embrace, and sinking into it was easy. His mind cleared. Grey clouds of heavy thoughts and doubts were blown away by a warm breeze. Relaxing into the bliss of a clear mind, Obi-Wan leaned on Padmé’s serenity, letting it surround him and keep everything else at bay.

“Who should be your padawan?” Padmé asked, the telepathic whisper echoing in his mind. Her question was the question of the Force, of his heart. The answer was a truth so obvious that it was a wonder he had missed it and hesitated so much before.

“Ahsoka.”

It was a true relief to say it. His shoulders lowered as he relaxed, freed from the burden of doubt and uncertainty.

Slowly, they drifted back to a higher level of consciousness. Obi-Wan opened his eyes and beamed at Padmé. “That was… What you did… I haven’t felt that since my bond with Qui-Gon.”

She smiled softly. “Is that a good thing?” Everything she did had been spontaneous and instinctive.

“Of course. You handle this bond better than I do.” Probably because she had nothing to compare it to and no expectations or preconceptions.

Obi-Wan crawled to reach her and encroached in her space until they were nose to nose. He kissed her, briefly at first. When she moved to meet him, the kiss deepened. Obi-Wan coaxed her into parting her lips, and she followed his lead with curiosity, shivering at the novel sensation, wishing for more. She held onto him with her fingers in his hair. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her into his lap. It felt right, this closeness, just perfect. She pressed their chests together eagerly, leaning into him to suppress any space between them.

Their bond made such a moment particularly intense. The combination of touches and their shared emotions mixing together could get heady.

Obi-Wan felt the exact moment Padmé got overwhelmed. He pulled back without a word, adjusting their position for a slow, long embrace during which their hearts calmed and their bond settled down.

He pressed his nose into her hair and kissed her temple in adoration. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“And I, you,” she replied, her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

An hour later, they went to find Ahsoka.

The young togruta was in the archives, slouching at a table, a hand holding her cheek while she read a datapad without enthusiasm. When she noticed them, she stood up so brusquely that her chair nearly fell backward.

“Master!”

Obi-Wan smiled benevolently. “Hello, Ahsoka. I was wondering, young one, if you would do me the honor to be my padawan.”

Ahsoka breathed in, held it for a long moment as the words settled in and her eyes widened, and then squeaked: “YES! Yes, yes, yes! Please! I mean… The honor would be mine, Master!” She bowed to the waist.

Padmé hid her amusement behind her hands. Once Obi-Wan was focused on explaining to Ahsoka what they needed to do to make it official, she discreetly took her leave. She was happy for them. She had no doubt that they would make a great pair, and that she would enjoy Ahsoka’s company.

 

*

 

“Lady Naberrie. A word if you please.”

Padmé turned away from the terminal she was consulting in the archives. “Of course, Master Windu. What can I help you with?”

Mace sat down beside her and glanced at the datachips scattered around. “Master Jocasta told me you were learning about Jedi history in relation to the Republic.”

“Absolutely. Obi-Wan told me quite a bit about your customs over the years, but I realized that to understand the evolution of the Order I had to put it in perspective with the Republic’s history. It’s quite fascinating, actually, how both are intimately linked,” she said enthusiastically. She had already spent a lot of time in those archives the weeks before, but now that Obi-Wan had to focus on his new padawan, she had even more free time in her hands.

Anakin had found her an hour earlier, looking for an excuse to delay the research he had to do for his Master. He had asked her what she was looking at and blanched at her enthused explanation. “You really are soulmates,” he had whispered in horrified wonder before escaping.

Mace was more interested. He bent over her shoulder to follow her explanations.

“I found mentions of an old Investigation Board. Their duties were to handle requests like we talked about the other day, but it disappeared two hundred years ago at the same time of this conflict. See?” She pulled a piece of flimsi on which she had listed her observations. “This trend can be traced back to the Ruusan Reformation of course, which gave greater power to the Senate and led to a reform of the Jedi Order. However, those last years, the Jedi Order and the Senate have clearly been getting closer.” She pulled another flimsi she had printed and which showed a graph. “Here, you will notice that the rise of Senate requests for Jedi intervention over the last thirty years correlates with the diminution of Judicial Forces and the increase of filibustering, which is not to say that there is a causality but certainly a trend in the evolution of the Republic’s politics.”

Admittedly, she had a lot of free time on her hands, but when she got started on a subject, she always pursued it thoroughly.

Mace hummed in thought as he observed her researches. His attention lingered on the most recent events. “I talked about your suggestion to the High Council, but we agreed that distancing ourselves from the Republic would send the wrong message at a time when the Separatist Movement is on the rise.”

She nodded, unsurprised by the news. “I understand your point of view, and I agree it’s not ideal, but a counter-argument could be made that by allowing this situation to persist you’re giving credit to the accusations of the Separatists that there is inequality in the Republic. If you play your cards right, you could restore such a Board saying it’s an answer to the Separatists’ accusation. You could promise them independence and fairness, as such helping subdue the growing doubts and restore faith in a fair Republic while reinforcing your independence.”

Leaning on a forearm, Mace was turned toward her with an intent expression. Once she paused, he thought about it for a moment and concluded: “I believe your presence will be needed for the next meeting of the Council.”

She smiled. “I will bring references.”

It took three days and three meetings for the High Council to make a decision. During the first, the influx of information brought by Padmé puzzled a good number of councilors, and they asked for time to document themselves. The Archives were quite busy that afternoon, and the Archivists more harassed than they had been in a while.

During the second meeting, some had prepared counter-arguments, but others agreed with Padmé and backed her up. She certainly didn’t back down. Jocasta Nu was called with a bunch of datapads to settle a few disputes and clear a few details.

The last day, Padmé wasn’t invited, but they agreed: the Order had to ensure its independence from the Senate. How? That still required some talks, but they made their decision. Her suggestion was accepted.

Padmé was called in afterward by Master Yoda and Windu.  

“Lady Padmé. We would like to offer you a position of political consultant for the Jedi Order,” Mace announced.

It was unheard of. It was Padmé’s new title.

 

*

 

A few hours after getting her new job, Padmé was adjusting a box on a small bed to make it obvious at first glance when entering the room. Leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“I’m worried you’ll spoil my padawan.”

“Don’t be silly,” Padmé replied with a shrug. “It’s a special occasion, I’m not going to do it every day.”

“I hope not, or we would need to have words, Lady Consultant.” The tone of voice was light (Obi-Wan found her new title quite amusing and liked to use and abuse it, officially due to his ‘pride for his soulmate’, but Padmé knew better: he was just a troll), but there was a hint of concern through the bond which gave Padmé pause.

Obi-Wan had just moved in new rooms so he could live with his padawan. Ahsoka would arrive soon to take possession of her new bedroom, and Padmé had thought natural to give her a housewarming present. It was a small plant from Naboo which could stay in bloom throughout the whole year. That had seemed perfect to her: not too materialistic to clash with the Jedi’s tenets nor too fancy. Anyone would appreciate a plant in their room. She had put a lot of thought in choosing the right gift. She hadn’t stopped to wonder if she should.

Padmé hesitated and turned around, pressing her hands together in front of her. “I’m sorry, am I overstepping my bounds?”

Feeling her dismay, Obi-Wan straightened and came to her, reaching for her hands. “It’s very kind of you, Padmé, but—”

“I shouldn’t have,” she realized. “It’s your padawan. Our relationship is already unusual enough in your Order without me meddling in your Master-Padawan bond. Oh, I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, I didn’t think of this. It’s customary on Naboo, and I wanted to foster a good relationship between all of us from the start, but of course I need to think more like a Jedi and—” She was stopped in her rant by a kiss on the corner of her lips and a wave of great fondness through the bond.

“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan murmured, embracing her. “I know you mean well. Why don’t you keep this for a while, to give her for her birthday, for example? It would be perfectly appropriate then, and I’m sure she’ll love it. Those blue flowers are lovely.”

Padmé nodded and craned her neck in a request for a kiss. Obi-Wan cupped her cheeks tenderly as he obliged, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones.

The door chimed as they parted. Padmé hastily pulled back to grab the box holding her present and went to hide it in Obi-Wan’s bedroom. It was very similar to his previous rooms and to her own. When she came out of it, Obi-Wan had let Ahsoka and her bag of possessions in. The sly look the padawan sent her informed them that she had gotten the wrong impression, but their mutual resignation over the bond informed them both that this was a lost battle that neither of them was willing to fight.

“I’ll let you get settled,” Padmé offered hastily. “Study well, Padawan Ahsoka.”

“Your room is over there, Ahsoka. I’ll be with you in a moment,” Obi-Wan told his padawan, moving to intercept Padmé before she could get out of the door. He caught her wrist and murmured in her ear: “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lady Consultant.”

He dropped a kiss on her cheek, and Padmé left with a smile.

With some consideration and efforts, they would make it work.

 

*

 

“Political consultant of the Jedi Order.”

“Yes. That’s me.”

Padmé grinned at her friends. Sabé, Eirtaé, Dormé, and Cordé were all gathered around her on the esplanade in front of the Jedi Temple. Captain Typho was standing guard a few steps away with his back to a statue. Her handmaidens had brought a picnic, and they were picking food from a basket as they talked.

“That’s incredible. I thought the Jedi Order was completely closed to non-Jedi,” Cordé commented.

“Ah, but Padmé is a Jedi by proxy,” Sabé pointed out with an amused smile.

“They had to find her something to do before she drove them all crazy,” Eirtaé added with a smirk. She and Sabé were in Padmé’s service since the beginning of her terms as Queen, as such they were more brazen than Cordé and Dormé who had only joined them a few years ago.  

Padmé took the teasing goodnaturedly but explained to Cordé: “The Order has non-Jedi employees, but they mostly help with maintenance.”  

“What will be your duties, exactly?” Dormé asked.

Padmé related the description she had been given by Mace: “I’ll be part of the new Council of Investigation which will independently study every request for Jedi intervention. I’ll give them my political analysis and personal opinion as an outsider of the Jedi Order. My expertise may also be requested by the High Council regarding their contacts with the Senate, and I’ll probably work with the Council of Reconciliation on diplomatic issues.”

“But that means you will never be Senator then,” Cordé pointed out thoughtfully, frowning as she wondered: “Who will the Queen choose then?”

“And what will we do?” Eirtaé added. “We’re not even allowed in the Temple. You won’t need us if you’re to live here from now on. Don’t get me wrong, I like those paid holidays on Coruscant, but that’s not exactly good management of human resources, I’d say.”

“I know,” Padmé agreed softly, meeting the sharp eyes of her friend. “Actually… I was thinking about suggesting either Sabé or you to the Queen for the position of Senator.”

“What?” Eirtaé blurted out, choking on the cube of cheese she had been eating.

Sabé, who had been pouring water in a glass, reacted more gracefully but still shook her hand free from a few drops. “Us? But we have no experience.”

Padmé raised an eyebrow. “You were both Apprentice Legislators and have been my advisors for eight years now. Eirtaé has also taken lessons in galactical politics to become Senatorial Aide.”

“Your Senatorial Aide,” Eirtaé pointed out, but she was considering it more seriously than Sabé.

“Just because you weren’t figureheads doesn’t mean you aren’t competent,” Padmé concluded.

“Who else could it be?” Cordé asked.

“Horace Vancil has declined a second term. He wants to come back to Naboo and his family. There are others, but…”

“What is it?” Sabé asked, noticing Padmé’s wariness.

“I fear that they would be too influenced by Chancellor Palpatine.”

The mood darkened on their little gathering. Palpatine was a sensitive subject.

Padmé’s relationship with the Chancellor was difficult since the Invasion of Naboo. Palpatine had been of the opinion that while her plan had been brave it had also been reckless. He had said so in perfectly diplomatic words, but Padmé had been uneasy during their discussion.

She had thought that she would change of Senator as soon as she could, since he had been unable to help their people anyway, but Palpatine had campaigned for the post of Supreme Chancellor when Valorum’s term had come to its end, two years after the Naboo Crisis. He had made promises to her and to everyone that he would put an end to the corruption and the bureaucracy of the Senate.

What had bothered Padmé the most was the way he had used the Invasion and their people’s suffering to gain support and sympathy. What had bothered her handmaidens the most was that he had used Padmé’s success for his own glory.

In the end, he had been elected. To Padmé’s mixed feelings, he had been efficient and true to his word: the measures he had taken had greatly reduced corruption. This success during his first term had allowed him to be renewed for a second one. He had now two years left as Chancellor, but his strategies were becoming clear: the chancellery grew in power and anyone who played nice with him benefited, but his opponents or the small worlds who had little sway in the Senate lost more and more power. This exacerbated the growing resentment and played in favor of the Separatists.   

In retrospect, everyone could see that Naboo had been a stepping-stone for him. Palpatine had lost most of his popularity on Naboo, but he had been elected at a higher function and now none of them could do anything about it. Furthermore, despite it all, he was Chancellor, experienced and charismatic with still a strong support. It would be easy for him to influence an uninformed Senator of Naboo.

“So, you want us to become Senator to annoy the old man?” Eirtaé concluded. “Well, I am in.”

Her friends stared at her, but none of them commented. When Eirtaé had her heart set on something, she didn’t change her mind.

Cordé tilted her head thoughtfully. “Will you dye your hair, or do we have to?”

“Blond isn’t for you, Cordé. I’ll do it. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh, good. It would clash with my complexion.”

And that was that.

 

*

 

Padmé walked stiffly as she tried to rein in her stress. The Council of Investigation was gathering for the first time. She was going to meet her colleagues for her new mission, and she was aware of all the rumors which already went around the Temple, doubting her competency and the value of her counsel. She was hoping her coworkers would be open-minded and smart enough not to heed them.

She reached the room commandeered for the Council and noticed that Master Windu had already arrived. The Master of the Order had informed her he would be present for the beginning of the meeting to introduce them all and their mission. Master Plo Koon was standing by his side. At least one of the members of the High Council would be part of the Council of Investigation, so it was probably him.

A female Mirialan and a male Nautolan were standing with them.

“Lady Naberrie. May I introduce you to Master Luminara Unduli and Master Kit Fisto. Luminara, Kit, meet our political consultant, Padmé Naberrie,” Mace said when she reached them.

They greeted each other politely. Padmé was surprised by the wide smile Kit Fisto gave her.

“The instigator of this Council, I believe? Well met, Lady Naberrie. This promises to be educative.”

“Indeed,” Mace murmured before glancing over Padmé’s shoulders. “And here is your last member.”

Master Dooku stepped out of the turbolift with a sweep of his long cape. He greeted them with a sharp smile and bestowed on Padmé a compliment on her outfit.

She had been careful with what she wore inside the Temple. While it would be silly and inappropriate to dress like a Jedi, she had chosen simpler garb with smooth lines and few ornaments. She had stuck out due to the varied colors she wore (her wardrobe was mostly filled with red and blue), but at least she hadn’t seemed completely out of place. For this meeting, she had looked for something more professional in [a white jacket with sharp lines and a long pleated skirt](https://fashionbride.files.wordpress.com/2017/09/ashi-studio-2018-wedding-gown-bridal-collection-09.jpg).

Dooku was one of the rare Jedi plainly conscious of the importance of appearances, however. With no such interest, Master Windu pressed them inside the meeting room impatiently.

The five councilmen took place at a round table topped with a holoprojector. Each seat was in front of a terminal so that each of them could consult the holonet or datachips as well as control the holoprojector. It seemed like a good setting for productive researches.

Sitting between Dooku and Plo Koon, Padmé looked up for Mace’s briefing.

“Your duties as the new Council of Investigation will be to study every request for help sent to the Order, regardless of their origin. You’ll assert their authenticity and urgency, and if necessary investigate when further information is needed. Master Koon will be your contact with the Higher Council and transmit us the information once your investigation has concluded to a necessary Jedi intervention,” the Master of the Order explained soberly before turning toward each of them, one by one. “You have all been chosen for your diplomatic and political skills, as well as your knowledge of the galaxy, but also for your complementarity. We’re living in troubled times. The Republic is called into question and our Order with it. It is the hope of the High Council that you’ll be able to help reaffirm our independence and reassure the galaxy of our commitment to peace and justice for all.”

Mace Windu was a good orator. Like the rest of them, Padmé sat straight, meeting his eyes evenly to show her commitment. Solemn silence marked the end of his speech. Mace nodded, satisfied.

“May the Force be with you, Councilors.”

He left, and they naturally turned toward Master Koon, head of the Council of Investigation in virtue of his status.  

“Shall we start?” Master Koon asked placidly, reaching for the screen in front of him and opening the first file of the day. “This request comes from Rodia, concerning repeated pirates attacks on supply ships.”

They all leaned forward to read the parameters.

“Two instances of rationing have already been necessary. This show a risk for citizens lives,” Padmé noted, trying to keep her personal connection with Onaconda Farr, Senator of Rodia, out of her mind (it wouldn’t do to put in question her impartiality on the first case). Still, she wondered why she hadn’t heard of those issues before.

“Local security has been unable to situate the source of the threat,” Kit read thoughtfully. “Judicial Forces sent on site are only able to defend half of the supply ships.”

“The Senate has failed to reply to this situation,” Dooku pointed out. “It’s unlikely this matter would have been brought to our attention before the implementation of this Council.”

“Fighting piracy is a prerogative of the Judicial Forces,” Luminara tempered. “It rarely needs Senate or Jedi intervention.”

“It has been known to happen,” Kit commented thoughtfully. “Those pirates seem well organized, and they target a world of the Outer Rim. The Judicial Forces are spread thin and with little support in those territories.”

“The problem needs to be resolved at the root,” Dooku stated.

“You suggest finding the pirates’ base so the Judicial Forces and local security can stop them,” Luminara guessed.

“Indeed.”

Luminara nodded thoughtfully.

Plo Koon, who had stayed silent until now, observing their interactions, noticed that an agreement had been reached and asked: “All in favor of Jedi intervention to locate the pirates base?”

All their hands rose.

“Jedi intervention approved unanimously,” Plo concluded and tapped on his datapad. “Priority of the request? High priority meaning an emergency meeting of the High Council and consecutive departure of an envoy. Moderate priority meaning that the request will be presented to the High Council in tomorrow’s meeting for an envoy departure the following day. Low priority meaning departure whenever an envoy is ready.”

“Low priority,” Luminara suggested.

Padmé leaned forward in her seat. “Moderate priority. Rodia has entered a period of monsoon which has traditionally a high cost on their agriculture. If the issue lasts for too long or the weather this year is too harsh, they might starve.”

They all paused, scrolled down the information on their screen, and then most of them opened the archive’s page for Rodia to confirm her information.

Dooku was the only one who seemed to take her word for it. “Moderate priority, seconded.”

They agreed one by one, and Luminara changed her decision, nodding to Padmé in acknowledgement.

“Moderate priority, unanimous,” Plo concluded. “I’ll present the matter to the High Council tomorrow. Now, on our second request…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there are some references to the animated series "The Clone Wars" here, and there will be more in the future (Cody and Rex will appear because they are awesome), knowledge about the series won't be necessary to understand this fic. It's not like I'm an expert, anyway.
> 
> The outfit described and linked is from Ashi Studio, rebloggable on tumblr: [here](http://lunaemoth.tumblr.com/post/163823696817/evermore-fashion-ashi-studio-fall-2017-haute).


	7. Chapter 7

A few minutes after the Council of Investigation’s meeting ended, Padmé found Obi-Wan on the roof of the temple, watching over a lightsaber duel between Ahsoka and Anakin. Although he kept an eye on the padawans, Obi-Wan turned toward Padmé with a smile, uncrossing his arms for a more open position.

“Lady Consultant. How did it go?”

“Very well!” Padmé admitted happily. “It was very efficient.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. He had guessed as much: she was radiating satisfaction and fulfillment. It was good to see her find her place in the Order, his home, his family. It pleased him as much as it did her. He was aware that some believed she had only been granted her position due to their bond, but they would learn soon enough that she was perfectly competent.

Padmé launched into a retelling of the meeting, followed by her opinion of her colleagues, for now mostly positive. Her hair braided in a crown and decorated with white flowers was catching the sunlight when she moved in her enthusiasm, distracting Obi-Wan from the lightsaber duel from time to time.

“Masters Plo, Luminara and Kit are well-known for their diplomatic skills,” Obi-Wan approved. “They are analytic and thorough. Good choices all around.”

“Does any of them have experience in Intelligence gathering?”

“Mh… Master Dooku does. Kit, maybe…” Obi-Wan pondered, stroking his beard. “Few Jedi really specializes in Intelligence nowadays and even less would agree to be part of a Council. Quinlan comes to mind.”

“I see your point—”

Without warning, Obi-Wan caught her by the waist and lifted her out of the way of Ahsoka, who had backflipped away from Anakin’s attack.

“Be mindful of your surroundings, padawan!” Obi-Wan chided her sharply as he pulled Padmé further away.

“Sorry!” Ahsoka squeaked.

“That’s valid for you too, Anakin!”

“I knew you’d handle it!” Anakin protested.

“No excuses.”

Padmé shifted away, and Obi-Wan let her go, catching her eyes to make sure she hadn’t been upset by the interruption. She wasn’t: he had kept her safe easily.

“I’ll leave you to your teaching,” she offered, feeling a bit guilty for interrupting — she had been too eager to relay the good news.

He nodded in agreement and squeezed her fingers in farewell. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Obi-Wan watched her leave thoughtfully for a second, admiring the elegant silhouette draped in white. With a shake of his head, he turned his attention back to the padawans. They had stopped fighting and were looking at him with matching smirks.

He raised a hand preemptively and warned: “Not a word out of the both of you unless you want to spend the rest of your day in contemplation of the concept of ‘respect’.”

“Yes, Master,” they replied in a chorus of cheeky voices.

Dear Force, what did he think, letting those two meet? The pair of them would be the bane of his existence, he could feel it, and he would have no-one else to blame than himself.

“Alright, Anakin. Thank you for your help with this demonstration. You may go back to Qui-Gon.”

“Master Qui-Gon told me he would be busy until lunch. I still have half an hour free if you want,” Anakin offered cheerfully.

Obi-Wan abandoned all pretence, glared at him and pointed toward the exit. “Leave.”

“As you wish, Master Kenobi!” Anakin bowed with a flourish and waved at a giggling Ahsoka.

Never again, Obi-Wan promised himself as he rubbed his forehead. Now he understood why Qui-Gon had raised an amused eyebrow at his request to borrow Anakin. He had known it was a bad idea, and he hadn’t said a word about it, thinking that it would be a learning experience for a young Master no doubt… Well, he was right, but still!

“Master?” Now that Ahsoka wasn’t under the bad influence of Anakin, she was staring at him wide-eyed, a bit worried she had gone too far.

Obi-Wan waved a hand. He was bound to make a few mistakes in this adventure. If this was the worst of it, he could live with it.

“Awareness of your surroundings, padawan. We need to work on it.”

He produced a blindfold, and Ahsoka groaned. She foresaw bruises at the end of the day.

 

*

 

Ten days after its creation, the Council of Investigation was in the middle of a meeting when they were interrupted by Master Windu and Yoda during an analysis of a request from the Senate.

The councilors had gotten used to each other and felt comfortable debating together. Padmé had found knowledgeable diplomatic minds and ardent defensors of justice and charity in her colleagues, which delighted her. The Jedi had accepted her easily and never treated her as an outsider. Meeting with them nearly every day for one to three hours — depending on the number of requests and their will to debate — was a delight. They had all built a report.

Dooku and Luminara stopped in an argument about the average morality of Senators, and all eyes turned questioningly toward the newcomers.

“Councilors, apologize for the interruption we do,” Yoda said from his overboard.

“Masters, did you just come back from the Senate?” Plo Koon asked calmly.

The mood darkened. It was no secret for any of them that the Senate hadn’t exactly been overjoyed by the Jedi Order’s decision to investigate their requests just like any others. While the official statement released by the Order had been diplomatic enough (Padmé had consulted and advised on a few rephrasings) that they couldn’t protest too loudly, there was grumbling and scheming underway. The few Senators brash enough to complain that the Jedi should be at the beck and call of the Senate had been squashed by public backlash, but many others agreed silently.

“Yes,” Mace replied with a slight tone of exasperation which showed he would have rather spent his day much differently. “The Chancellor has been… understanding of our decision.”

“But completely unhelpful?” Dooku guessed.

Mace made a face which expressed he wouldn’t have put it like this and that he didn’t appreciate the implied sarcasm.

“Did he kindly tell you that he was terribly sorry but his hands were tied, and he might have been able to help if only you had let him know in advance?” Padmé asked.

Mace showed open surprise by raising an eyebrow, and Yoda’s ears tilted in interest.

Padmé nodded in understanding. “You shouldn’t believe a word of it. An appropriate translation would be: ‘you have done something I don’t like so now just deal with it, and next time you better talk to me about it so I can change your mind and do whatever I want’.”

Kit tilted his head. “That’s…”

“Politics,” Dooku and Mace finished in a chorus of disdain, to the first’s amusement and the second’s horror.

“Isolated in the Senate we are at risk to be,” Master Yoda remarked, bringing the discussion back on track.

The smartest critics had complained that the Order’s decision was weakening the Senate and thus the Republic. While Padmé could at least understand this criticism, to assimilate the Republic to the Senate was an oversimplification and a mistake. The Republic’s strength wasn’t based only on the Senate, it would have crumbled ages ago otherwise. Its stability was due to its laws and their application by the judicial system, the Judicial Forces and the Jedi Order. Strengthening the Jedi Order by allowing them the freedom to do their duty without the Senate breathing down their neck was a service to the Republic.

Of course, Senators wouldn’t exactly like to hear that, would they?

“Let the Senators calm down for now,” Padmé advised. “They will come around when they realize that their planets can receive help from the Jedi much more quickly without passing by the Senate. In the long run, I’m confident that this will not affect the Order’s standing.”

“And in the short run?” Mace asked.

“The issue will be the damage dealt by our detractors to the Jedi’s public image. This Council will be useless if those who need it believe the lies belittling the Jedi. A counter PR campaign is necessary.”

“Not the Jedi way this is,” Yoda immediately disapproved.

“I’m aware, and so is every individual which slanders your name,” Padmé acknowledged, holding his eyes firmly.

The Grand Master hummed and looked at the Master of the Order who sighed and nodded. “We’ll talk about it with the High Council tomorrow. Lady Naberrie, if you could pass by at nine o’clock.”

“Certainly, Masters,” Padmé agreed with a bow of her head.

“This will be all for today. Excuse us.”

The two Masters took their leave. The rest of the Council of Investigation turned thoughtful eyes toward Padmé. She smiled and gestured toward her terminal.

“Low priority, I believe. What do you say?”

“Agreed,” Kit concurred, easily accepting the return to their previous conversation.

“Let them stew,” Dooku added with a flourish of his long fingers.

“Now, aren’t you being dismissive?” Luminara replied, ready to play devil’s advocate.

Padmé smiled as the debate started again.

 

The next day, the High Council refused her suggestion.

The Republic hadn’t been built in a day, Padmé thought to herself to quell her disappointment.

 

*

 

With a daily job to do, Padmé had found her niche in the Order. She was slowly getting accepted as part of it, regardless of her outfits and lack of a lightsaber. 

Weeks passed by, and Obi-Wan and she settled in a routine. They would spend most of the day separate, Obi-Wan teaching Ahsoka, and Padmé working for the Council. They would gather together for dinner, alone or with Ahsoka. Sometimes they would sleep in the same bed, so some basic belongings were shared between their rooms.

Tonight was one of those nights. The three of them played sabacc long after dinner. The use of the Force had been banned, but Ahsoka had a competitive streak and was natural enough at the game to win often, which delighted her.

“You practiced,” Padmé noted to Obi-Wan.

“As did you,” he pointed out, “but apparently not enough to face up to my young padawan. Is there something you want to tell me, Ahsoka?”

The teenage girl beamed. “This game is wicked!”

“Wonderful, my padawan is a gambler. Well, that decides it. No more sabacc. Ever.”

“What? No! You’re only saying that because you’re bad at it!” Ahsoka protested.

“Absolutely,” he admitted shamelessly while tidying up the table they had been playing at. All of them pointedly ignored the fact that he could beat them both if he tried, with just a bit of help from the Force.

“That’s not fair!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find another game to beat me at. You’ll just have to work at it,” he teased her with a grin, patting her shoulder.

“I will! Just you wait.”

“In the meantime, it’s bedtime for you, padawan!”

“I’ll dream of all the ways I can beat you!”

“And I was going to wish you sweet dreams. How naive of me,” Obi-Wan drawled, unfazed by Ahsoka’s mulish look.

Despite all her feistiness, the pre-teen went to her room easily enough, bidding Padmé a good night as an afterthought and adding mockingly: “Not to you, Master!”

“Charming.”

Padmé laughed at their shenanigans, observing them with fondness. She had learned to take a backseat when they were like this, but she was included often enough in whatever they were doing that it worked for them. She was the Master’s girlfriend, and that seemed to be enough, at least for now. Once Ahsoka grew, she might welcome a feminine ear, but now she just needed a parental figure, and Padmé couldn’t be that for her.

“You’re great with her,” Padmé murmured to Obi-Wan as they stepped in his bedroom. They hadn’t talked about it: when it was this late, Padmé always stayed.

“You think? I have doubts sometimes. She’s more belligerent than I expected. She reminds me a bit of—”

“Anakin,” they said at the same time. They chuckled in understanding.

“I dread the teenage phase, to be honest.”

Padmé sat on the bed to remove her shoes and let her hair down. “You’ll do great. She’ll benefit from your steadiness.”

“I hope so. Time will tell.”

Obi-Wan stepped into the refresher, leaving the door open while he changed and washed. “You know. I think you’re actually affecting how I deal with her.”

“How so?” Padmé wondered as she went to the drawer where Obi-Wan had put her clothes away. The nightdress she had left here was in midnight blue Naboo silk. Obi-Wan had complimented the feel of it the first time she had worn it.

“Anakin told me he expected me to be sterner with her, that I was ‘less uptight’ these days.”

“Oh, are you?” She huffed in amusement and undressed.

“Well, I would say less stressed… No, stressed isn’t the right word. Anxious, maybe? More relaxed, certainly.”

She hummed in thought. “I am too, to be honest. I thought it was the end of my term as Queen and my decision not to become Senator, but…” She slipped into the nightdress.

“A side-effect from the bond, maybe?” Obi-Wan concluded. He sounded closer.

She felt him behind her before his lips kissed the hollow of her neck and his arms went around her waist. She tilted her head to give him more access and leaned back in his embrace. Their cheeks pressed together. The feel of his beard had gotten familiar and comforting, as long as it didn’t rub.

“Obi-Wan.”

“Mh?”

“What about…” She hesitated and changed her approach. “When we’re getting intimate…”

He waited patiently for her to find the right words, the bond a bridge of acceptance and love.

“I know it’s my fault we haven’t gone far yet. I get too overwhelmed by the bond. Could you teach me to shield?”

His hands slid to her hips. He stepped around her, frowning.

“Now, what’s that supposed to mean ‘your fault’?” He shook his head and pulled her toward the bed. They sat down with their thighs brushing. “If you want me to teach you something, you just have to ask, Padmé, but I feel this is coming from the wrong place. There is nothing wrong with taking our time and getting used to the bond.”

“I just… I want more,” she admitted, letting her frustration show.

“Do you?” he asked with a little smirk.

She mock-glared at him. “Are you teasing me?”

He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “Maybe we could do something about that.”

“What?”

“Like I said… taking our time.”

His fingers slipped through the slit of her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her knee underneath.

They leaned toward each other, and their lips met, slow and light, the caresses igniting thousand of sparks into mind and body.

“Let it flow,” Obi-Wan suggested in a whisper. “Don’t focus on it, don’t try to control it, just let it through,” he said with the slow rhythmic voice used to guide meditations.

With her eyes closed, Padmé obeyed, accepting the next kiss, fleeting and teasing, but so agreeable and far from the flood of lust she had sometimes felt.

Slowly, they lied down on the bed, learning each other’s body with careful touches.

Padmé was removing Obi-Wan’s shirt, chasing away the fabric from his skin, when she felt the threat of being overwhelmed again. She closed her eyes and realized that the loss of this sense made it easier to just… accept the emotions and let them pass. Focusing on touch only was grounding.

“Padmé?” Obi-Wan murmured in her ear, nuzzling at her cheek.

She shared the thought with him, and he hummed in understanding. “Would you like me to blindfold you?”

It sounded enticing. She communicated her agreement. 

Obi-Wan left the bed to find something appropriate: the sash of his robes. It was soft enough and smelt like him, which didn’t hurt in the least she realized as he carefully tied it around her eyes.

“Good?”

She nodded, and he lied down next to her. Slowly, he pulled up the bottom of her nightgown, giving her time to protest while his calloused fingers caressed the skin of her thigh from knee to hip. Leaning on an elbow over her, he kissed her lips and hummed when she raised a hand to find his hair and gently rub his scalp. In contrast to him, her fingers were soft, and their trail on his cheekbones, temples, and neck led him to close his eyes to appreciate the touch. He understood Padmé’s focus on this sense. The sensations of their skins uniting just felt right.

His thumb drifted from her hips to her belly, and she lifted a leg to pull him closer with a nudge of her foot. He gave in and shifted over her, covering her carefully, to her loud mental approval and soft hum of satisfaction. Her hands slipped down his neck to his shoulders, tracing the width of them before going down his back. He was doing the opposite, tracing the curve of her hips to the underside of her breasts.

This slow exploration of each other was bliss. Lust took a backseat, patiently waiting for its turn in their developing relationship.  

 

*

 

“Padmé asked me to teach her how to shield the bond, and since its the same principle regardless of the type of bonds, I might as well teach you both at the same time, if it’s alright with you two,” Obi-Wan explained as they stepped in a meditation room he had booked.

Ahsoka and Padmé nodded in agreement, smiling at each other at the idea of sharing a lesson together.

“This will be fun,” Ahsoka replied cheerfully. “What do we win if we’re the first to succeed?”

Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head. “The right to be my guinea pig for my next demonstration.”

“Oh.” Ahsoka turned toward Padmé. “I’ll let you win.”

“That’s too nice of you, Ahsoka,” Padmé drawled, amused, before settling in front of Obi-Wan, ready for his instructions. She had put on comfortable training clothes, as he had requested. She wasn’t quite sure why that was necessary. In her experience, meditations were rather static, but Obi-Wan was the teacher, and so she waited.

“Shielding from a bond is different from shielding your mind. You both know the basic principles for shielding yourself from the outside world: focusing on oneself, based on memories, emotions, thoughts, and principles. Then there are more complex additional shields, which can be distractions, decoys, mirrors, and many others, but they crumble without this foundation of a solid sense of self. Shielding from a bond is different in the sense that it is a part of you, and yet it isn’t completely under your own volition.”

Obi-Wan was a talented speaker and a good teacher, Padmé realized thoughtfully. She quite liked that aspect of him, and she had to force herself to focus instead of chasing that thought.

“Before we start, your core needs to be firm and stable. Let’s start with a mountain pose.”

Padmé closed her eyes, kept her chin high, feet parallel and arms to her sides.

“Focus on your core and strengthen it.”

Following the instructions taught to her by Master Yoda, Padmé visualized her tree and organized it carefully. Memories in the roots, in the trunk her principles, the branches are her emotions and the leaves her thoughts. Strengthening her core was like gardening (an activity which she had appreciated on her downtime but had few opportunities to practice).

“Now,” Obi-Wan murmured a few minutes later, “imagine that our bond is a hallway between our souls. Visualize it... and close the door on your end.” It took only a few dozen seconds before Obi-Wan hummed in approval. “Good, for the both of you. To be clear, this door can never be fully hermetic, it’s not in the nature of a bond. Strong emotions can still pass by, just like strong noises can pass a door. If you try to force it shut tighter, then you’ll begin to damage the bond. If you want to make the shield lighter, you can simply visualize it as such.”

Padmé imagined a decorated wooden door like she used to see in her childhood home; firm but warmer and thinner than metal.

“And I can knock to request entry,” Obi-Wan added.

The knock was more of a brush against her consciousness, a ‘hello there, I miss you’.  

“Keep the door in mind. Now, raise your arms to the sky.”

Ahsoka and Padmé had enough space between them that they just brushed fingers as they obeyed.

“Lift your right foot and rest it on your left shin for a tree pose.”

Both students had enough practice for it to be easy enough. What followed… not so much.

A few minutes later, Ahsoka squeaked from the delicate position they were holding: “I don’t get it, Master. Why are we exercising at the same time?”

“Making the shield is easy, but the bond will naturally come back to its state of an open bridge. To shield properly, you need to be able to hold it subconsciously, whatever you do, whatever you focus on. That’s the hard part. As a matter of fact, Ahsoka, door closed if you please.”

Ahsoka’s nose puckered as she focused. She wobbled on one foot as she did so.

“Good job, Padmé. Focusing on your breath is essential.”

Padmé hummed to show she was listening, but she was currently locked in a battle of will with the stupid door which refused to stay close. Yes, she loved her soulmate and didn’t like to be separated from his soothing consciousness, but that wasn’t the point, damn it!

“I refuse to lose,” Ahsoka grumbled to herself.

“Quiet your mind and focus on your breath, Ahsoka. Let’s move in dancer pose.”

“Urgh!”

After an hour, Obi-Wan informed them cheerfully that they would need months of daily practice to maintain a subconscious shield.

“You never planned on us succeeding today,” Ahsoka realized with a groan. She was sprawled on the floor, poking at her aching abs.

Obi-Wan crossed his hands behind his back and grinned. “No, but I applaud your attempts to do so, my dear padawan. Your determination is to be commended.”

“Master,” she whined, “you’re mean!”

Padmé chuckled, sipping at a cup of water.

“Padmé, back me up, here! That was so mean!”

“Oh, look at the time,” Padmé said as she stood up. “I have to go to the Archives. See you later!”

“Padméééé!”

Obi-Wan’s amusement and affection followed her all the way to the shower.

 

*

 

“Padmé,” her soulmate groaned from the bundle of sheets next to her. “It’s six in the morning, and I can  _ feel  _ you think.”

Looking up from her datapad, Padmé blinked and glanced at the clock. The last time she had checked it was five. She closed her eyes and visualized the wooden door on her end of the bond.

“A kind attempt, but too late,” Obi-Wan sighed. “I’m awake.”

She winced. “Sorry. I’ll go back to my rooms and meditate beforehand next time.”

He rolled and cuddled against her side, embracing her waist and pulling her back down from her sitting position so he could nuzzle her neck. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. I woke up thinking about this, and it’s a disaster waiting to happen, I can feel it.”

“What is?” he asked calmly, still drowsy, his eyes closed.

“The public image of the Order is getting worse and worse.”

“Ah. That.”

“Why aren’t any of you more worried about it?” she asked, exasperated, kicking the sheet. Even Obi-Wan had been sceptical about her suggestion to the High Council.

“Padmé. There have always been people hating the Jedi, calling us baby-snatchers, meddlers, soulless monks, snobby mystics, and so on and so forth. We get used to it. What does it matter? We know better.”

“It matters because it’s wrong!” she shouted, immediately feeling guilty when Obi-Wan tensed and turned his head toward Ahsoka’s room. When he settled down beside her, she knew she hadn’t awoken the padawan, but she calmed down and sighed.

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Believe it or not, I was similarly offended at being called names when I was a teenager,” Obi-Wan admitted with a sigh. “Qui-Gon taught me to rise over it, to not let it affect me. We have all been taught similarly. That’s the Jedi way.”

Padmé stared at the ceiling, feeling upset for all those padawans who wanted to help and received taunts for their trouble, for the Jedi who were used to it and learned to ignore it so entirely that they refused to defend themselves when a slander campaign was mounted against them.

“And when it happens to Ahsoka. Will you teach her the same?”

Obi-Wan sighed and draped an arm over his eyes. “Yes.”

Padmé rolled out of bed and stood up.

“Padmé?”

“That’s not my way,” she replied fiercely, grabbing clothes and going to the refresher. “The High Council doesn’t want to make it official? Fine. It doesn’t need to be.” She removed her nightgown and threw it to the floor. “You have allies, you damn self-sacrificing Jedi, and they’re going to help, even if you don’t ask for it.”

Obi-Wan raised on his elbows, disheveled and bleary-eyed as he watched his soulmate get out of the ‘fresher with the fiery look of Queen Amidala going to kick invaders out of her planet. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he admitted honestly, “but uh... may the Force be with you?”

“It will be! I’ll see you at dinner.”

They didn’t see each other at dinner, because at dinner every Jedi was gathered into the mess hall, going through the growing trend of Jedi rescues stories retold on social media and networks in the brand new category ‘ _ #MaytheForcebewithYou _ ’.

“Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan turned around to face Mace Windu, raising his hands in his defense. “I have nothing to do with this.” Well, he suspected that he had unintentionally named Padmé’s PR campaign, but the High Council couldn’t pin it all on him.

Mace raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but he was interrupted by his former padawan before he could reply.

“Mace,” Depa Billaba said hurriedly while offering him a datapad. “Do you remember that wookie child on Ruusan? Look, he wrote about our meeting.”

A trace of alarm went through Mace’s expression. “Did he mention—”

“Yes, but don’t worry, he didn’t give our names,” she said with a smile. “Read it, it’s really cute.”

Obi-Wan used the opportunity to flee unbothered and looked for his own padawan. “Ahsoka,” he whispered to the girl while her group of friends was focused on their reading. “There is a story about a wookie on Ruusan out there, could you find it for me?”

“Uh, probably. Why?”

Obi-Wan smiled innocently. “Oh, just curiosity.”

“Ok,” she replied distractedly. “Did you read this one yet, Master? It’s about you!”

Obi-Wan squinted at her. “Did you make a search based on my name?”

“Of course. Everyone does!”

He rubbed his forehead and wondered if he should sympathize with Mace. “Any embarrassing stories yet?”

“Uh… There is one about you jumping into a trash compactor to save who you thought was a baby but was, in fact, a cat? And then you got a lot of scratches for your trouble? I’m really proud of you for saving the cat, Master,” Ahsoka said earnestly — and clearly trying to keep her amusement contained.

“Ah, yes… Corellia. That was a charming mess. The story is even better than that, actually,” Obi-Wan told her as he sat down by her side on the bench. “I thought it was a baby because a mother was calling after it in despair. The cat had swallowed a datachip, you see. The datachip containing the draft of a very important treaty because that lady was actually a Bothan Ambassador.”

“That’s why you thought it was a baby. With the fur and everything,” Ahsoka realized.

“Indeed, but this doesn’t stop here,” Obi-Wan said, fully aware of all the attentive ears and eyes turning his way. 

Gaining a large audience of Initiates and Padawans, Obi-Wan spent the rest of the evening sharing tales, soon joined by several other Masters and Knights.

The next morning, he came out of his bedroom to the sight of his soulmate preparing breakfast. He shuffled to her, embraced her waist, rested his chin on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” she confirmed, filling two cups of tea. “There is one thing, though.”

“The High Council summoned you?”

“Oh, no. They won’t, unless they want to admit it was necessary. No, I have received an invitation to Chancellor Palpatine’s birthday in three months. I’m afraid I can’t decline.”

Obi-Wan grunted. “As long as there aren’t any cats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "first act" of this fic has reached its end, every pawn is in position. Next chapter will bring more action, and we'll leave Coruscant for a while. I won't spoil you, but I liked writing it! :3 
> 
> Meanwhile, let me know if you liked this chapter with its fluffy smut and political/PR plot!


	8. Three months later

Chancellor Palpatine’s birthday had arrived and with it the reception he was hosting for Coruscant’s elite.

Padmé had come to her previous apartment — now Eirtaé’s and the rest of the Naboo retinue — to prepare, as she had left most of her wardrobe here. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, who had come with her, were sitting in the living room with Captain Typho while the handmaidens were choosing a dress in the next room.

“Why did we need to come this early?” Ahsoka asked once she had admired everything different from the Temple, from the paintings to the embroidered pillows. “We could have simply dropped Padmé off on our way to the venue since we have to go two hours before her.”

Obi-Wan was responsible for the security of the event. The Chancellor had requested a Jedi presence (directly to Mace, in a blatant circumvention of the Council of Investigation, which had finished to convince everyone of his poor opinion on the subject) on the ground of the Sith and growing Separatists menace. The High Council had agreed, mostly because it gave them an excuse to put Obi-Wan in a situation where he could keep an eye on Padmé without being her escort, which would have been too blatant for their tastes.

Consequently, it was Ahsoka’s first mission. She was quite excited and a little jittery. Leaving the temple just after lunch to wait in a foreign place where she didn’t dare to touch anything wasn’t filling her with the peace she was looking for.

“Preparing for events can take many hours,” Captain Typho pointed out without looking away from the datapad giving him a view of every security camera. He missed the incredulous and horrified expression of the young girl.

Obi-Wan didn’t and smiled with amusement. His padawan would learn soon enough during escort missions how long preparations could take. She would need to practice patience, which was hardly her forte. “Besides, Padmé wanted to see her friends. We can hardly deny her that, can we?”

“Of course not, master,” Ahsoka agreed, more willing to be patient for a friend’s happiness. She was a kind and thoughtful soul, his padawan. These last months had given him a good overview of her character and assuaged some of his earlier worries. They fit well together. While Ahsoka had some rough edges, he was confident that with maturity, experience and education she could grow in a fine Jedi. She reminded him of himself at the same age from time to time, and consequently of how much he had grown under Qui-Gon’s tutelage.

Padmé came out of the dressing room. Music followed her, soft instrumental notes joined by choirs, coming from some recording.

Sitting on a couch with an arm over the back, Obi-Wan smiled as the familiar melody reminded him of the hours spent with Padmé over the years. Sometimes, they had simply left the holocomm on while they read, sharing their favorite songs instead of speaking, which was just as telling. He had gotten quite fond of Naboo’s music.  

“Did you make your choice?” he asked as Padmé passed by to fetch a bag.

She let her fingers brush his hand. “We did. Do you want to see it?”

They shared a smile. “No, keep the surprise.”

“Can I see it?” Ahsoka asked eagerly, looking for anything to occupy her mind.

“Of course,” Padmé accepted and gestured for her young friend to follow her.

Obi-Wan snorted when he heard his padawan squeak in wonder at the number and style of dresses.

“But how do you move in this?!” he heard her asked, ever so practical. When she came back a few minutes later, she was in awe. “Master, there are hidden pockets in all her dresses, and slits to move easier! And the fabrics, they are blaster fire resistant and impervious to scanners! Padmé has all kind of holsters to hide blasters, and—”

“Padawan, if this ends up in a ‘I want one’, I’d like to remind you that the Jedi Order doesn’t have the same funds as the Royal House of Naboo,” Obi-Wan interrupted with a lopsided smile.

Ahsoka’s eyes lost some of their dreamy shine for a sharper spark. “Padmé said she could get me an outfit in the same fabric once I finished growing, but only if you say yes.”

Obi-Wan held back a groan and sent a mental chiding to his soulmate. Such expensive gifts were hardly appropriate for a Jedi.

 _“Sorry, but I’m not sorry,”_ Padmé replied telepathically. _“It’s a practical gift. Don’t you want your padawan to be better protected, since you, Jedi, refuse any_ armor _?”_

How he could say no to that? Defeated, Obi-Wan shook his head, sighed and relented: “At the end of your growth spurt... we’ll see.”

“Padmé! He didn’t say no!” Ahsoka shouted happily, running back inside.

Rubbing his forehead, Obi-Wan ignored his soulmate pleased and grateful mental nudge.

_“I would offer you the same if I thought you’d wear anything else than your traditional robes.”_

_“You like my robes.”_

_“I like to peel them off you,”_ she replied, impish.

Obi-Wan sighed and slid his hand down his face to hide the hint of blush warming his cheeks. While still shy in public, Padmé had no trouble expressing herself in private anymore and liked to use and abuse — in Obi-Wan’s opinion — their telepathic link.

“Many others have tried and failed to tell her Ladyship no,” Captain Typho said sympathetically, misunderstanding his embarrassment.  

“Yes, that does tend to happen often, doesn’t it?” He can’t be very upset about it, he realized as joyful laughter came from the next room.

The music changed for something more upbeat, and someone knocked open the door, granting him a view of the girls dancing in a merry mess of arms and fabric. He caught sight of Ahsoka, seeming a bit confused by the Naboo choreography, and felt her discomfort through their bond. He was going to call her to give her an out, but Padmé grabbed the teenager’s hands and led her into a dance, teaching her the steps. Embarrassment was replaced by merriment, and Obi-Wan settled down, confident that his soulmate had everything well in hand.

He leaned forward to grab the datapad containing all the information about tonight’s security and joined Captain Typho into silent reading.

When Ahsoka collapsed on his shoulders half an hour later, Obi-Wan hummed questioningly at his out-of-breath excited little padawan.  

“Master, make-up is waaay too complicated,” she told him very seriously.

He patted the nearest hand. “It’s a tool, and like any other tool, its use needs practice, padawan. Now, come here. Tell me, what is the first thing we’ll have to do tonight?”

Ahsoka sat down by his side and leaned against him to see and point at the datapad, settling into the serious security expert she trained to be.

 

*

 

The party was just starting.

Obi-Wan already wanted it to be over.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he murmured in his open mic, staring at the entrance doors from a good vantage point.

“I have been warned to dread those words coming from you,” Aayla replied in his earpiece. “Now I’m expecting the worst.” She was by Padmé’s side, as her official bodyguard. They had just arrived and hadn’t reached the main rooms yet.

“Trust in the Force, young ones,” Dooku said peacefully. He had been chosen as Representative of the Jedi Order for the occasion. Master Windu had gladfully delegated the task to a more politically savvy volunteer. Obi-Wan caught sight of him at the bar, ordering what was bounded to be a very pricey glass of wine.

“The Force is being quite obscure lately, don’t you think?”

“Agreed,” Aayla said.

“Then trust in yourself,” Dooku replied.

“Oh, now, that is risky,” Obi-Wan commented.

“Don’t make me laugh,” Aayla said with humor. “We’re coming in.”

Obi-Wan turned his attention toward the doors. Refusing to see her dress had been a good idea. It made her appearance all the more remarkable.

Padmé was wearing [a red and white gown with large sleeves and a notched collar](https://66.media.tumblr.com/dc5b923cf9cb5f48eaf65ea3cdf8336e/tumblr_nuagh5TqWB1sms0ibo4_540.jpg) as well as a necklace of diamonds and rubies. She looked regal, which fit the fact she had been invited as Padmé Amidala, former Queen of Naboo, and not Padmé Naberrie, consultant of the Jedi Order. Her hair was more lightly decorated than it used to be, however: it was held up by a silver and scarlet net bun and sprinkled with similar ornaments, but no complex structure had been necessary to keep it in place.

As lovely and majestic as the sight was (and oh, it was, and it reminded him vividly of his doubts as a padawan, wondering how he could be bonded to a Queen, of all people), Obi-Wan knew of the many practical reasons for her attires.

“How many weapons does she have on her?” he asked.

“Two blasters, two knives and a personal energy shield with two extra power cells. I have to admit, it’s nearly enough to make me reconsider my stance on dresses… nearly.” Aayla was wearing a brown traditional Jedi cloak over her usual clothes to blend in more easily in the crowd — eyes lingered less on a covered Jedi than on a pretty twi’lek. She always stayed one step behind her charge as Padmé greeted guests, starting with Chancellor Palpatine.

Obi-Wan looked away to focus on his own mission. “Ahsoka, how are things on your end?” he asked in his mic.

“All clear, Master!” his padawan replied cheerfully. “The staff is all accounted for with clearance and everything. Same for the food.” Even something as dull as security checks couldn’t dampen her enthusiasm for her first mission. It was endearing.

Obi-Wan went to check on her and then walked around the perimeter. The Force was still warning him of danger, but he had to have faith in Aayla and Dooku, both perfectly capable of protecting his soulmate. Now, if the Force could be a little more specific on what could go wrong, he would be happy to heed it, but that was apparently too much to ask.

 

*

 

It had been half a standard year since Padmé hadn’t attended such a party — since the celebration of the end of her reign to be exact. She hadn’t really missed it. She had grown accustomed to the quiet of the Jedi Temple, just like she had once been fond of the serenity of the Royal Palace in Theed. However, she only needed a moment to switch in the necessary mindset for those affairs.

Smile. Greetings. Small talk. Offering happy wishes to the Chancellor for his birthday.

Until finally she reached a friendly face.

“Uncle Ono!”

Onaconda Farr, Senator of Rhodia and dear friend of her father, welcomed her with open arms. They embraced briefly. “It’s good to see you, Padmé. While your father told me you were on Coruscant, I have failed to reach you.”

“I’m sorry, but…”

“It’s all right. I know,” Onaconda replied while glancing at Aayla. “Are you safe?”

“As much as I can be.”

“Then that’s all that matters. And I should thank you.”

“What for?”

“The Council of Investigation. I know you are linked to it somehow, and I couldn’t be more grateful for its creation.”

“Oh,” Padmé breathed in understanding. She looked around to make sure that no-one was listening in on their conversation and then pulled the Senator toward an empty balcony. “Is the piracy issue handled?”

“A Master Jedi is tracking them. Master Tholme. I am told he’s familiar with such issues. I am very hopeful the situation will be resolved soon. It’s good to see the Jedis act where the Senate failed.”

Padmé smiled in pleasure. That her work helped such a dear friend was the best she could hope for. “I’m glad.” She asked after his family and people, learning how they had been affected by the rationing and how difficult their situation had been.

“The monsoon season promises to be difficult this year. We all hope Master Tholme will succeed before it becomes critical.”

Padmé squeezed his hand in support.

A few minutes later, Onaconda was called away by his aide. She was left alone on the balcony. Aayla joined her, and Padmé asked: “Do you know a Master Tholme?”

“He’s my Master’s master,” Aayla replied. “The Rhodians are in good hands.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Padmé relaxed.

She mingled some more, drank a little (no alcohol) and nibbled on some appetizers, mindful of her make-up. Despite her efforts, Aayla gestured to her lips, and Padmé had to excuse herself to the powder room to reapply her ruby red lipstick.

She was nicely surprised to see Obi-Wan at the end of the hallway, apparently making a perimeter check since he only stopped at the sight of them. Aayla stayed a few steps away and turned toward the room they were coming from to grant them some privacy without needing to be asked.

“How are you?” Obi-Wan asked softly, reaching for her hand and kissing her knuckles.

“Well,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “I met Onaconda Farr — do you remember him?” At Obi-Wan’s nod (Uncle Ono had been part of the childhood stories she had told him about), she added: “Master Tholme is helping Rhodia with their piracy trouble. I’m so glad.”

“That’s good to hear,” he replied, straightening. “I have to go. Padmé… you’re gorgeous.”

She held back a blush at his whisper, troubled not by the words but by the intense look showing how much he meant it. While he complimented her regularly and flirting came easily to him, there was rarely so much intent behind it. A shiver went up her arm. She pulled back her hand kept warm by his touch to smooth her waist. She wished she could kiss him, but all she could afford was a tender look back and a nod as he left.

She ducked in the powder room to pull herself back together. She came out calm and collected with perfectly painted lips.

Unfortunately, her peace didn’t last long. She had just stepped back inside the reception room when Chancellor Palpatine reached for her.

“Have you seen the garden terrace yet, my dear? It reminds me pleasantly of home.”

There was something profoundly annoying in having an opponent who knew all your weaknesses, Padmé decided as she let herself be led toward the terrace.

It was lovely, a bit chilly for her bare forearms but pleasantly quiet. Palpatine led her through alleys of plants climbing on arched trellis, pointing out some from Naboo. They stopped twice to greet other guests on their way to the edge of the garden, to a balcony protruding from the building, offering them a wide view of the city. Aayla stayed at a few meters of distance, hidden among the greenery.

“Queen Jamillia informed me of our next Senator’s identity. You must be pleased for your dear friend, Eirtaé,” Palpatine finally said.

“I have great faith in her.”

“I am sure she has learned much by your side, but the Senate is a much harsher place than Naboo.”

“I’m aware.”

“Is that why you favored the Jedi Order over the Senate, my dear?”

Padmé crossed her hands over the railing. “No. My motivations were personal.”

“Your relationship with Master Kenobi, I presume? I hope you won’t be disappointed by the Jedi. They tend to be rather… conservative on matters of the heart.”

“I have no complaints, for now.” It was unfortunate that rumors of her budding relationship with Obi-Wan had been shared among the palace during the  Invasion of Naboo and had consequently reached Palpatine’s ears, but she wasn’t ashamed of it.

“Good, good.” His comlink beeped. “Oh. Excuse me a moment. I have to take this.”

Padmé nodded, rather glad for the reprieve. She was expecting comments about the Council of Investigation as soon as he was back. She turned to face the city while Palpatine stepped away. On her left, she had a good view of the reception room and its balconies. On one of them, she caught sight of Master Dooku talking with an unknown Senator. He caught her eye and nodded in acknowledgement. On the floor below, where the kitchens and staff room were, there was a catwalk along the building, with guards at the doors. A man wearing a cloak was talking to them, standing with his back to her. Obi-Wan. She sent a thought his way, a mischievous _“I see you”_.

Obi-Wan was turning around when Aayla shouted: “Padmé, get away from the balcony!”

Startled, Padmé spun around to see Aayla sprinting toward her, Chancellor Palpatine watching curiously from a few steps away. Padmé went to comply when an explosion happened under her feet, deafening.

The whole platform shook. Padmé lost her balance and fell. She felt more than she saw the platform bend and break away from the building. The explosion had taken the girders holding it up, she realized. She was going down, sliding down over the railing. Gravity was pulling her toward a fall of sixty floors.

Her breath was cut by the impact. Her ears were ringing. She scrambled to catch the railing on pure instinct. Holding onto it nearly was too much. She was weighed down by her dress and weakened by the shock. Dazed, she looked up, hoping for help.

Aayla was on the terrace, on the closest stable ground. Her hands were reaching forward as she kept the platform from falling with the Force. She was visibly straining. Their eyes met. Aayla shouted something at her, but Padmé couldn’t hear. She guessed the gist of it, however: she knew that it was very difficult for a Jedi to use the Force in two different ways concurrently. Aayla was lifting — oh so slowly — the balcony. She couldn’t catch Padmé at the same time. She was probably asking her to hold on and climb up.

Padmé couldn’t.

Her fingers started to slip.

 _“Let go, Padmé! I’ve got you!”_ Obi-Wan’s voice sounded loud and clear in her head, above any ringing in her ears or panic in her head.

She obeyed with relief.

Her fall was extremely brief. Before she could realize it, she was floating in the air and turning toward the reception room. Here, he was. She had fallen from the height of a floor, which put her level to Obi-Wan who was holding his arms toward her with a focused expression. Like promised, he had her. Relieved, Padmé relaxed in his hold. It was a strange feeling, but…

Ahsoka appeared on the catwalk, running with her lightsaber in hand. She looked like she was screaming something at her master. Padmé only understood when a blaster shot crossed her field of vision and hit Obi-Wan.

His concentration was broken.

Padmé fell.

 

*

 

“Master! A speeder breached the perimeter and is coming this way!” Ahsoka had shouted, trying to reach Obi-Wan to cover him.

She was too late.

Obi-Wan screamed in pain and grabbed his left shoulder, but he stayed standing and leaned over the railing. “Padmé!”

Ahsoka stopped by his side with several security guards. The white and red silhouette of her friend was shrinking down as she fell.

The speeder from which blaster fire had been shot had immediately dived, catching her around the fortieth floor.  

“They got her, Master!”

Clenching his teeth, Obi-Wan pulled away his clothes from his injury. “I can’t tell if that’s a good thing.” The Sith had wanted her dead before. What had changed?  

A moment later, he winced as Padmé’s consciousness blacked out of his mind.

“Master?”

“They’ve got her unconscious.” He breathed in to focus despite pain and fear. Panicking wouldn’t help Padmé. “They’ll want to get her out of world so I can’t find her. Call the High Council. Tell them to send word to every spaceport.”

Ahsoka nodded, eager for something to do, to help, and went back inside for some quiet to make the call.

“Someone identify that damn speeder!” Obi-Wan ordered the guards standing by, although he had little hope on that regard. They still jumped to obey. "And held back the guests away from the terrace!"

Gawkers were filling the garden on the top floor despite the danger of the structural damage caused by the explosion. The Chancellor was among a group of agitated Senators. Dooku was helping Aayla with the promontory, pulling the metal contraption onto the terrace to avoid a destructive and potentially deadly fall to the ground. When they were done, Dooku activated his mic and asked solemnly: “Is she dead?”

“Unconscious,” Obi-Wan replied, stepping back inside where a Tholotian guard was readying an emergency bacta patch for him.

Dooku sighed in relief and murmured a soft: “There is that, at least.”

“I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan,” Aayla said. “I felt the warning of the Force only a moment before the explosion.”

“I know. Me too,” he admitted. He pushed away his destroyed tunic and let the Tholotian put on the patch with a nod of thanks. The cool gel immediately soothed the burn and helped him relax a bit. “We need to find her before they leave the planet.”

“I’ll warn Master Quinlan immediately,” she offered, eager to get her charge safely back. “He knows how smugglers and bounty hunters work around here.”

 

*

 

As soon as she woke up, Padmé knew she was in deep trouble, and there would be no immediate rescue.

She couldn’t feel Obi-Wan. She could hear the telltale hum of hyperspace.

Her kidnapper had managed to get her out of Coruscant.

“Ah. I see our princess has decided to wake up.”

Padmé was at the back of a small cargo bay, her hands tied to a wall with metal handcuffs. A bald female humanoid was towering over her with crossed arms and a sneer.

More importantly, Padmé felt the nauseous result of heavy soporifics and a headache probably due to the explosion which had happened under her feet. Oh, but on a positive note, her hearing was back… although, there was still some ringing in her ears, and if she had to listen to her kidnapper’s posturing, she could have done without.

Padmé tried to sit up and adjust her position so her hands and arms wouldn’t be lifted so uncomfortably. That’s when she realized that she had been stripped of her gown, jewellery and weapons, leaving her in her undergarments: white camisole, leggings and socks. That explained why she felt so cold.

“Sorry for the undressing, darling, but I couldn’t very well leave you with all those pretty toys, could I?” her captor said as she played with one of the blasters previously strapped to Padmé's thigh. A moment later, she pulled out of a pocket the heavy necklace of diamonds and rubies Padmé had worn. “By the way, don’t count on that tracker too much, darling. No, no, no rescue for you…” She fingered the gems. “I have to admit, at least you have good tastes. Expensive tastes, mind you. One can’t help but wonder what your dear Jedi soulmate thinks of that. Mh?”

Padmé stayed quiet, pressing her knees to her chest, looking for some warmth. There was something wrong with her captor. She couldn’t put a word on it, but it sent shivers down her spine. She had a feeling that no amount of diplomacy and negotiation would get her out of this. Failing that, there was little point to communicate when her interlocutor was clearly fishing for something (information? an excuse to hurt her? or both?).

The pale woman crouched in front of her and pressed Padmé’s blaster under her chin. “Not in a mood to talk? What a shame. But don’t worry, we have all the time in the world to get to know each other. Your dear, dear soulmate, won’t save you anytime soon. In fact, the next time you see him, it will be to kill him.”

“I will never!” Padmé blurted out, her eyes alight with defiance.

Ventress —it could only be her— cackled, put the blaster back on her belt and stood up. “Never,” she mocked with scorn, “such an ambitious word. We shall see.” She held up her palm.

Invisible pressure closed around Padmé’s neck, stealing her breath. Straining against the cuffs, trashing her feet to try to move away, kick Ventress, anything, Padmé choked for several excruciating seconds. When the pressure disappeared as suddenly as it had come, she collapsed, breathing in, gasping and gagging.

Ventress disappeared toward the cockpit with a chilling laugh.

Sith. Ventress was a Sith.

Shaking against the wall, Padmé realized with horror that her situation was so much worse than she had thought. Ventress may actually have the means to make her threat happen…

No. Padmé would rather die before she could be used to hurt anyone she cared for, starting with Obi-Wan.

She would get out of this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dress in this chapter is from Ashi Studio: [tumblr link](http://lunaemoth.tumblr.com/post/136877807257/fashion-runways-ashi-studio-couture-fallwinter).  
> The first scene was written following _snoweytano_ 's request for more Ahsoka in her kind review. ♥ Requests for scenes are welcome, although I can't promise they will fit in the storyline. If you want to see more of a character I'll definitely take note for the future. :)  
> 


	9. Chapter 9

Padmé lost track of time.

Ventress came back a few times to taunt her. Once, she electrocuted her. Twice, she hit her. Mostly, she ranted, promising the death of Padmé’s soulmate once her Master got hold of her. When Padmé had the cheek to ask after that mysterious Master, that’s when she was electrocuted. Consequently, Padmé ignored her afterwards, which resulted in the blows, and possibly the fact that she received no food. Ventress just threw canteens of water at her and cackled when Padmé had to squirm to get them. As for allowing her use of the refresher… well, Padmé would rather forget about that debacle and how little Ventress apparently cared for modesty.

Finally, after what felt like days (Padmé was pretty sure that her captor had slept at least twice; as for her own sleep… well, let’s just say she closed her eyes for extended periods of time), the ship came out of hyperspace.

Ventress left without a word, but Padmé managed to get a look outside when the access ramp opened.

They were in a closed spaceport. Padmé hadn’t felt atmo entry and the gravity was artificial, which meant either an asteroid or a space station. The spaceport looked dark and messy and sounded noisy. Probably out of Republic space. Certainly a smuggler and pirates spot where she wouldn’t find much help, which explained why Ventress wasn’t worried about leaving her without supervision. It was also possible that she was going to find backup here, maybe even her Master, whoever he was. Against two Sith, Padmé would be done for.

Rolling on her back to get a hairpin out of her sock, Padmé hissed and ignored the pain of her abused body to get at those stupid cuffs which were giving her cramps and blood circulation troubles.

She had caught sight of another ship next to this one. Even if she couldn’t find help on this spaceport, she might be able to smuggle into this other ship and negotiate with the pilots… potentially… if the Force was with her.

Anything was better than the company of a Sith.

Padmé got out of her cuffs after much swearing. She groaned in relief when she was able to stretch her arms and wrists. It hurt, but it was the kind of hurt who promised an imminent improvement. She rolled onto her knees and stood up slowly, catching herself against the wall when she stubbled due to the cramped muscles, the fatigue and the lack of food.

She looked around, thinking about her exit. Even if she could get the ramp open, it was probably not a good idea. Anyone would put an alarm on their ship’s entrance when landing onto a cesspool like this one seemed to be.

She stumbled around and found a kitchenette. Quickly going through the cupboards, she grabbed a ration bar and torn it open while trying to get her thoughts in order. She pocketed one more bar, stuck it in her bra, drank as much water as she could and hurried to the refresher. On a countertop, she found one of her knives. It went into her leggings.

She didn’t dare take the time to search for more. Ventress might be doing a quick stop only.

While relieving herself, Padmé heard noise from the pipes. Maintenance. The maintenance hatch might not be monitored! Now she had to find it.

She was unfamiliar with the disposition of this ship. It certainly wasn’t manufactured on Naboo. Logically speaking, maintenance hatches were usually in a corridor between the cockpit and the engines. This ship wasn’t big enough for more than one corridor, so...

She smiled in satisfaction when she spotted it in the floor. She had to move a grating out of the way, but the hatch opened without hesitation or noise when she pulled on the lever. There were more security measures when they were in space, or for someone coming in from the outside, no doubt, but Ventress hadn’t thought to make sure her ship was secure to keep someone inside. Considering the disdain the woman had shown, she probably thought Padmé was a useless ‘princess’ whose sole merit was her bond to a Jedi. It wasn’t the first time that Padmé benefited from people underestimating her.

There wasn’t much space between the hangar’s floor and the ship, but she could fit. Carefully, she slid her feet first, sat on the floor, put the grating back, and then lied down on the floor to close the hatch. She had just enough space to roll on her stomach and start to crawl toward the other ship she had seen.  

This one was smaller. In fact, it was a two-seater patrol ship. Padmé pulled a face. If the pilot had a companion, there would be near to no chance for her to convince them to take her. A third on such a ship was just a burden.

Biting her bottom lip thoughtfully, she tried to spot another option from her hideout. She couldn’t see anyone, only maintenance droids. This hangar only had space for the two ships currently docked, and all the possible exits would require for her to be exposed. The droids might not care, but the hangar might be monitored. Now, even if she managed to get out of this hangar, she had no idea where she was and if she could find help. She was dressed in undergarments (and, kriff, she was cold!), and only armed with a knife.  

Pressing her trembling fist against her mouth, Padmé felt panic brought by indecision rose. She closed her eyes and breathed along the pattern Obi-Wan and Yoda had taught her to calm her mind and focus on her core. ‘Releasing your emotions into the Force’, they had called it. Well, Padmé mostly saw it as batting away annoying spiders from her tree.

Her bond with Obi-Wan, kept passive by distance, was a light reminding her of her motivation to escape. For both of them, she had to get away from the Sith. It was an urge, like that day running away from the Sith, a sense of looming danger she had to flee from.

To escape, there was only one true option, but entering this patrol ship would be near impossible. There was no outside maintenance hatch in that kind of ship (none that could fit a human), and the entrance was undoubtedly locked and trapped. She would need to wait for the pilot to unlock it, with higher risk to be spotted and little time to act.

“Prepare the Firespray-31 for departure,” a voice announced on loudspeakers.

Droids moved around the patrol ship (a Firespray? good to know, for the little she cared about ships), pulling out cables and tubes recharging it.

She had to move, _now_.

Breathing in for preparation, Padmé crawled forward to get a better view. She studied attentively the droids’ movements and fields of vision. Thankfully, they were getting out of the way. Once she was sure she wouldn’t be spotted by them (there wasn’t anything she could do about security cameras, apart from being as fast as possible), she slipped out of hiding and sprinted toward the patrol ship (her whole body protested, but she forged on).

She plastered herself to the hull, out of view of the hangar’s entrances as well as the ship’s. Her heart beating wildly, she waited with bated breath. It seemed to take ages before she heard the entry hatch unlock and open. After a moment, there was the sound of a pair of boots climbing in. She waited a breath more, but she didn’t hear anything indicating there would be a copilot.

She had to take the risk.

Silently (an easy feat when you were only wearing socks), she moved. Staying crouched to not be noticed, she climbed onto the ramp. She craned her neck to check the road was clear. The hatch started to close. She jumped in before it could shut, looking up in fright, half-expecting the pilot to be right there, but they must have already been in their seat. The engines were starting.

Wide-eyed, Padmé had a moment of stupor when she realized that she had succeeded. She went to move forward but froze. Something told her that would compromise her chances. There was little space in this ship. It most certainly echoed. The pilot might hear her. Yet, she couldn’t just stay here, she would be spotted at the next destination, at the latest.

The ship rose, and Padmé hold on tight as it turned to maneuver out of the hangar. Swearing internally, she plastered herself to the wall, holding onto handles. That’s when she realized she was just next to another hatch, a manhole above the entry. Considering its position, it must be for maintenance of the queue of the engine. She could hide there, she realized.

A few minutes later, as Padmé debated on when she should risk moving, the ship jumped in hyperspace.

She had gotten away of her captor. Now, to get back to Obi-Wan...

 

*

 

“Are you alright, Master?”

Obi-Wan looked down at his padawan and granted her a distracted smile. “As much as I can be.” Considering the circumstances...

Forty hours after his soulmate disappearance, he would appear unaffected to civilians, but feel unstable to most Jedi — in fact, Master Yoda had said so the previous evening before luring him into a joint meditation which had admittedly brought him some peace.

Ahsoka reached for his hand and squeezed it. His padawan used to be more hesitant about touching him, but she seemed to have decided to make up for Padmé’s absence by giving him a bit of the easy companionship he had with his soulmate.

They entered Dex’s Diner, where they had organized a lunch meeting with the Naboo retinue. The loyal friends and previous guards of Padmé were eager to participate in the search for their former Queen.

Obi-Wan came early with another discussion in mind. The lunch rush hadn’t started yet, and Dexter came out of the kitchen as soon as he caught sight of his friend.

Returning the hearty hug he was given, Obi-Wan smiled at the besalisk and didn’t show the pain he felt at having his shoulder patted, jostling his blaster burn. He turned toward Ahsoka, who was watching the interaction with a hint of surprise.

“Dexter, may I introduce my padawan, Ahsoka Tano? Ahsoka, this is Dexter Jettster, the cook and owner of this establishment, and a dear friend.”

“Well met, kiddo! It’s good to see Obi-Wan try his hands at parenthood. You’re in good hands!”

“Uh… thanks?” Ahsoka replied hesitantly. “Nice to meet you.”

Obi-Wan shook his head with a slight smile. “Dex…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Not a parent. Whatever. Same thing.” He led them toward a free booth far from any other clients and sat down on the opposite bench. “Now, I know why you are here.”

“You do?”

“Vos dropped by. I heard about your girl. I’m sorry. I remember when you brought her here. Too bad I was overworked, I would have loved to meet your date.”

“You brought Padmé on a date here?” Ahsoka murmured, glancing at the diner interior with scepticism. She blushed when two pair of eyes turned toward her, realizing how judgemental that sounded, especially in front of the owner. “I mean, uh… that’s nice?”

Obi-Wan leaned toward Dex. “So Quinlan told you what happened. Do you know anything?”

“I asked around. Not a name I was familiar with, Ventress. New to the business, uh. All I could get for you, my friend, is that she’s a zabrak, light skin, bald, and she disappeared the night your girl was abducted.”

“So it’s her,” Ahsoka blurted out.

“No jumping to conclusions, padawan,” Obi-Wan said. He brushed his beard distractedly. “But she’s definitely a trail we need to follow. Thank you, Dex. If you find anything else...”

“I’ve got your back. Now, juice is on the house.” Dexter patted his shoulder (the good one, fortunately) before leaving for the kitchen and signaling his waitress droid to serve his friends.

Adjusting his robes, Obi-Wan sighed and thanked the droid only by force of habit.

“We’ll find her, Master,” Ahsoka told him encouragingly.

“I believe so… but it’s the state in which we’ll find her which worries me the most,” he admitted. His bond to Padmé was reduced to a thread due to the distance, but he could still feel how miserable she was, physically and mentally.   

They just had time to order their meal before the Naboo arrived, represented by Sabé and Captain Typho. They sat down on the opposite bench, expressions serious and cold.

Obi-Wan knew they held him responsible for Padmé’s situation, especially Captain Typho who considered it Obi-Wan’s personal failure as the one in charge of security. Obi-Wan understood and agreed. Ahsoka didn’t, and she scowled at them in a wordless warning not to shout at her Master again, or else…

The tension was thick. Obi-Wan did his best to ease it by suggesting a few dishes on the menu, but he had difficulties to manage his usual easy-going attitude. It fell flat.

“What did you find?” Typho demanded.

At a glance from her Master, Ahsoka summarized what Dexter had just told them and then added the rest of the information they had gathered: “No ships recorded to Ventress’s name or any known bounty hunters were allowed off the ground, so we’re looking for the identity she used to leave based on the time when Master Obi-Wan felt Padmé disappear from range.”

The Jedi’s plates arrived, but the Naboo didn’t order anything.

“Did you talk to Padmé’s family?” Obi-Wan asked after a tense silence.

“Yes,” Sabé replied shortly, unwilling to make it easier for him.

Seeing his Master hesitate to ask anything else, Ahsoka’s anger reached the point of no return. “Padmé would be ashamed of you,” she blurted out, her fists clenched under the table.

“Padawan,” Obi-Wan hissed, reaching for her.

“She would be!” Ahsoka insisted, moving away from his placating hand. “Master Obi-Wan is her soulmate. He hurts just as much as you do! She would want you to help each other, not alienate each other.”

“Ahsoka, enough!”

The girl backed off at her Master’s disapproval, but she crossed her arms and stubbornly kept her chin up.

“... She wouldn’t be ashamed. She would be disappointed,” Sabé admitted with a sigh. Her shoulders dropped.

“Which is just as bad,” Typho commented while rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I need caf.” He called the waitress. Sabé and he finally ordered.

“Her family is upset, but not holding you responsible,” Sabé said while leaning forward, elbows on the table, “and so is Queen Jamillia. She has given us her support to find Padmé and bring her back.”

“The tracker in her necklace was found and deactivated a few hours after her capture, but we have enough to track her way through Coruscant. Here.” Typho slid a datachip across the table. “It was removed after their entrance in hyperspace on the Corellian Run. From there we speculate that they went toward the south-east, but it’s possible that they changed their destination after finding the tracker.”

The mood warmed up considerably. They put their heads together to find how to move from there and divide the workload. When the Naboo left, they were all in a much better mood.

“You’re welcome,” Ahsoka said once Obi-Wan had taken his leave from Dexter and they left the diner.

“You’ll be meditating for an hour on the concepts of peace and serenity tonight,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Oh, come on, Master, I was right!”

Obi-Wan stopped and faced her, his robe folded around him and his hands hidden in the sleeves. “You were,” he admitted, “but the way and the reason you said it were wrong. Do not let anger dictate your actions, color your tone or influence your relationships.” When she tried to interrupt, he stopped and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. She looked down. “When you spoke, you didn’t do it to smooth our relationships. Am I wrong?”

“I wanted to protect you, Master.”

Touched by her honesty, Obi-Wan freed a hand to cup her cheek. “I know, Ahsoka, and I appreciate it. It came from a good place, but do you see what you did wrong?”

She nodded. “I tried to hurt them back because they hurt you.”

“What you said after was right, and it helped to ease our relationship, but you could have done so without the aggressiveness. They could have taken offence to your tone. Your age won’t always be an excuse for rudeness. You’ll meditate on all of this tonight and we’ll speak about it again afterwards.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And don’t boast, padawan. It’s unbecoming.” This last reproach was softened by the arm he put around her shoulders as they walked toward the Temple.

They were half-way when Obi-Wan’s comlink beeped. He checked the caller and greeted him: “Qui-Gon. Did you finally crawl out of whichever swamp you have fallen in?”

“Not a swamp. A karking desert!” Anakin’s voice could be heard distantly.

“Ah.”

“Obi-Wan. I got your message, I apologize for the delay,” Qui-Gon said. “How are you?”

“I…” He glanced at his earnest padawan. “Ahsoka takes care of me.”

“Good. Don’t let him brood, Snips!” Anakin shouted.

Obi-Wan frowned. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Snips, it’s his nickname for me. He’s Skyguy,” Ahsoka helpfully explained. “And you can count on it, Skyguy!”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “You have barely spent hours together. How did the two of you already… Nevermind, I don’t want to know. And I don’t _brood_.”

“Tell me what you have learn so far,” Qui-Gon requested, bringing them back on track. Once he and Anakin were up to date, he hummed and asked: “How did you miss the explosive?”

“The security droid handling the preliminaries checks was tampered with.”

“That’s not easy to do,” Anakin commented. “Security droids have some of the best anti-hacking protocols. That’s the whole point. They’re nearly untouchable remotely.”

“What are you implying?”

“Whoever did this is either a professional hacker — and one of the best— or they had some inside help.”

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan shared a gloomy glance. “I see… Thank you, Anakin.”

“We’re in the south quadrant, and we’ll probably stay for a few more days,” Qui-Gon said. “If you need us to step in for a quicker response, let us known. I’ll keep a more attentive eye on my comlink.”

“Please, get me out of here!” Anakin added.

“I’ll keep it in mind. Thank you,” Obi-Wan replied, holding back a snort.

 

*

 

Once again, Padmé had no idea how much time had passed before that ship finally entered atmosphere. The increase of heat, pressure and gravity warned her of an imminent landing. She secured herself in the maintenance crawlspace, closing the hatch behind her, leaving her in complete darkness and a space so tight she might get nightmares about being buried alive.

Waiting for them to land and for the pilot to leave was excruciating. With her ear to the hatch, she managed to catch noise from a conversation slowly moving away. When she couldn’t hear anything more, she took the risk of opening the hatch.

She had thought about simply commandeering this ship, but two obstacles were in her way: the navigation system was probably locked, and… she had no idea how to fly it. It was the most obnoxious design she had ever seen. Where was up in this damn thing? She couldn’t make any sense of it as a passenger, she didn’t want to imagine what piloting it would be like.

Squirming out of the tight space, Padmé craned her neck to evaluate the situation outside without falling off her perch. Luck was on her side, and the entryway was wide open. Probably friendly space for the pilot then. All she could see from the planet they were on was… rain. A lot of it. Wonderful, because she wasn’t already freezing enough as she was. Failing to see anyone (and who would linger in such a downpour?), Padmé slowly dropped on the access ramp.

The landing space outside was purely artificial and linked to a city of domes which… seemed to be in the middle of an ocean. That would make escape rather difficult. Of course, it would have been too much to ask for this pilot to land on Naboo, or even Coruscant!

She could only see one entrance to the dome. Once again, she seemed to have very limited options here.

She sprinted toward the door. Well… she tried to. After spending hours in a small space, and with only socks protecting her from a drenched metal floor, it was more of a sliding/stumbling disaster. Nonetheless, panting, shivering and soaked, she reached the damn door and opened it without hesitation.

She had eaten her extra ration bar, but she was dehydrated, and yet she really needed to pee. Oh, and she had barely slept. At this point, she was just exhausted and completely done. She took the knife hidden her leggings, mostly because its position was uncomfortable rather than because she knew what to do with it.

She was barely surprised to end up face to face with Jango kriffing Fett. The bounty hunter was standing in the middle of a hallway, wearing armor, his helmet under an arm. He was talking to a boy of seven years which looked so much like him that Padmé’s first thought was: “A son. Called it.”

They turned toward her in perfect synchronisation. While the boy looked bewildered, his father’s eyes went wide. She supposed that she must be a sight with her hair (once arranged into an elaborate bun whose ornaments had disappeared with her jewellery) plastered to her face and white undergarments nearly transparent due to the rain. That must be the reason for the boy’s bafflement. Jango, though, he was probably wondering how the hell she got here, and while she was the one knowing the answer to that, she didn’t like what it implied. What were the odds that Ventress and Fett had been in the same place at the same time just after she had been captured, without Fett being linked to her fate? Slim to none. Which meant he was the enemy.

She wouldn’t go back to the Sith.

“You kriffing liar,” she cursed and leaped toward Fett without hesitation. An offensive was her best defense while she had the effect of surprise on her side.  

Jango pushed his son away and threw his helmet at her to slow her attack. It knocked her right hand, getting her to drop the knife. The hit barely registered among all the pain and fatigue. She closed the distance and thrust her left open palm to his chin, knowing better than to try to hit at his armor. She had been taught to hit where it hurt. Some may call it fighting dirty, her handmaidens and she chose to fight smartly.

Destabilized, Jango was slowed in his attempt to get a blaster out of his holsters. Padmé tried to get one out of his grip by twisting his thumb, but he retaliated by hitting her in the stomach with his free fist. She dropped to the floor, angling her body to soften the fall and take her opponent with her. He fell much less elegantly, but his armor took most of the damage.

“Dad!” his son called in surprise.

Catching her breathe as best as she could, Padmé jumped on Jango, blocking one of his arm with her knee and reaching for his holster. If she wanted to come on top of this fight, she needed a weapon, quickly.

He cursed in a language she didn’t know (Mando’a maybe? if his armor was any indication) and caught her wrist, pulling her back with it. Before he could get her off him and sit up, she hooked her thigh around his neck and squeezed. It was such a shame his armor’s collar gave him some protection.

She distantly heard footsteps coming closer and a new voice muttering: “What in the karking hell…”

Damn it. Now there might be more than one hostile. Curving her back, Padmé made a grab for the vibroblade pommel she had seen protruding from Jango’s boots. Understanding her intent, the man kicked out of her reach. With a hip thrust, he managed to roll them over, getting her under him and slipping out of her thigh hold. Using his weight rather than his agility to hold her down, he trapped her left arm under her back. She tried to hit his throat with the edge of her right hand, but he used his vambrace to parry and immediately caught her wrist. He pressed his other forearm to her neck in warning.  

The memory of choking got her to freeze, breathing heavily and glaring daggers at him.

“Fett, what the hell?”

Jango looked up, apparently more annoyed by the interruption than by Padmé herself.

“You’re aware of how this looks, right?” the newcomer asked. He sounded human and older than forty years old. With her wet hair in her eyes and the pressure on her throat, Padmé couldn’t check.

Jango replied in Mando’a with what sounded like a lot of sarcasm.

“Dad, who is she?”

Jango shifted on one knee, probably to face his son.

Padmé used this opportunity to push up her hips, free her arm from under her and grab one of the damn blaster, finally!

Jango pressed down on her neck, limiting her air supply, but the cannon of his blaster was already edged in the hips joint of his armor. The security was off. “You never give up, don’t you?” he asked her, looking down with a raised eyebrow. There was as much annoyance as there was reluctant admiration in his voice. “Go on. Shoot. It won’t be fatal, and even if it was, you won’t get out of here without help.”

Even lying down, Padmé was feeling more and more light-headed, which was a worrying warning that she was at the end of her rope. If Jango pressed a little more, she might simply passed out, and then she had no doubt that she would be back to square one with even more extreme prejudice from Ventress. Her promises of turning her against Obi-Wan made Padmé change tack.

Jango’s eyes followed the blaster from his hips to her temple with satisfaction at first — his forearm lifted slightly in encouragement — and then bewilderment. “Do you really expect me to believe that you’ll shoot after all the trouble you went through to live?”

“I’d rather die than be back in the hands of a Sith,” Padmé replied, her voice hoarse but steady. “You’d be paid for my corpse anyway, wouldn’t you?”

Jango didn’t reply. He met her eyes, probably looking for a sign she was bluffing.

They acted in the same breath.

Jango pressed his forearm down and let go of her left wrist to catch her armed one. She fired, but he had already managed to turn it away, and the shot hit the ceiling, scorching it and producing a rain of dust over their heads. With a hiss of desperation, Padmé used her now free hand to claw at her opponent’s face. Jango had to shift his forearm away from her neck to hold her back and save his eyes.

“Damn it, you feral voorpak! I won’t call them!”

“Am I supposed to believe anything coming out of your karking lying mouth?!”

“You have my word!”

Padmé paused, as much to breathe than to consider his words. “Swear it on your son.”

He glared at her for the suggestion but amended: “You have my word as a Mandalorian that I won’t call anyone looking to hurt you and that I won’t hurt you myself.”

Mandalorians were warriors with a strict code of honor, her memory reminded her. That would have to be good enough. Her vision was going dark on the edge, and her hands were shaking. She dropped the blaster and went lax.

Jango waited for a beat to make sure she would stay down this time, but he seemed to recognize her exhaustion. He stood up slowly and then offered her a hand up.

Padmé accepted it. When he lifted her up, the world went dark.

 

*

 

Expecting it, Jango caught the fainting girl before she could crumble back to the floor. It was a wonder that she had managed to fight him so well at all.

He lifted her in his arms with a grunt, but she wasn’t weighing much more than his son, even soaked. It wasn’t like her clothes — if they could be called that — were adding much to the weight either.

He turned toward Boba and Kal Skirata, expecting their questions.

“That’s a spitfire of a girl,” Kal commented. His expression was closed off, but he didn’t put into question Jango’s motives again. The declaration on his honor seemed to be enough to quell his doubts.

“ _Buir_?” Boba asked. He had fetched his father’s helmet and blaster, putting back the security on. Good boy. “Who is she?”

“Right now, our guest,” Jango replied. He tilted his chin toward the hallway leading to their rooms. “Go find blankets and clothes for her before she turns into an icicle.”

Although clearly not satisfied with the answer, his son did as ordered and left. Jango followed at a slower pace, and Kal fell into step with him.

“ _Shut up and keep this for yourself,_ ” Jango told him in Mando’a before he could be questioned.

Kal raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “ _I will, but I’m a witness to your vow, Jango._ ”

“ _I don’t need a witness to keep my word,_ ” Jango replied sharply and left Kal behind.

Damn that _di’kut_ of Ventress. How useless was she to put them all in this mess? And just after boasting that she hadn’t needed Jango’s help to get the job done. She hadn’t contacted him yet, which led him to think that she probably hadn’t realized where her little prize had disappeared. To her credit, it was highly improbable that the girl had managed to smuggle into his ship. Hiding on Kellos Station would be more likely. That must be where Ventress was looking, not eager to tell anyone about her failings before she had no other choice.

Jango stepped into his apartment.

Boba was arranging towels on the couch. Good initiative.

Once the girl was stretched out on the towels, blankets pulled over her, Jango straightened, rubbed his face and stretched his neck. He would get a stiff neck from that palm thrust if he wasn’t careful.

“Dad?” Boba tried again. “You know her.”

“Her name is Padmé,” Jango replied, going to the kitchen and looking for something nourishing and easy to eat. “She has a bounty on her head. Got caught. Not by me. Managed to escape while I was meeting with the hunter who got her. She smuggled into Slave One.”

“How?”

Good question. His son had his priorities straight.

“I’ll ask her that when she’s awake.”

“You won’t give her for the bounty?”

“I gave her my word I won’t.”

“Why?” There was no judgement in Boba’s question, just genuine curiosity. “Because she fought well?”

Jango filled a glass of water and heat a container of soup. “What can you tell me about her?”

Boba hesitated and glanced at their guest. Analyzing someone was an exercise his father often gave him. “She’s small so she fought dirty.”

“Smart. She thought smart, Boba. In a fight, you play with your strengths. She knows hers. She used them.”

“So she’s trained.”

“Correct. What’s more?”

“She’s no warrior though. The thing in her hair…” He made a hand gesture toward his own, to indicate the silver net bun which was tangled in Padmé’s wet hair.  “That’s fancy. But the rest… uh… The other bounty hunter removed her clothes? Because they were rich stuff? might hide something? She must have been freezing.”

“Yeah.”

The exercise was stopped by a groan coming from the couch. Padmé stirred and opened her eyes, catching sight of Boba first and then Jango as he approached. She didn’t try to sit up. Probably too exhausted.

Jango offered her water first, which she welcomed gratefully but with shaking hands. When she craned her neck to sip without spilling everywhere, Jango pushed a pillow under her head. He sat down on the coffee table in front of her and then took back the glass of water when she slumped back.

“How did you avoid the traps on my ship?”

She blinked at him. “Traps?”

Jango frowned. She hadn’t even noticed them? “Where did you stay?”

“The maintenance space, in the queue.”

“For fifteen hours?!”

“That’s how long it took? It felt longer.”

Jango rubbed the bridge of his nose. That woman was giving him an headache, but she had his grudging respect. “Boba, we’ll need to trap the maintenance hatch too. Think about it and give me your suggestions tomorrow.”

“Yes, dad!”

Without a word, Jango offered the soup next. While contained, Padmé’s eagerness told him everything he needed to know.  

“You’ll need to take a hot shower and change before you catch a cold. I’m not playing nurse for you.”

The glare he received informed him that she wasn’t impressed by his disdain and that exhaustion wasn’t sufficient to quell her spirit.

“The only clothes we have who can fit you are dad’s,” Boba said, pushing forward what he had taken from Jango’s closet. “I got you shirts, pants and a sweater.”

Padmé paused in her attempt to put Jango on fire with her mind and turned toward Boba, offering him a small smile. “Thank you. I’m Padmé. What’s your name?”

Boba glanced to his father and only replied when he got a nod of agreement. “Boba.”

“Thank you, Boba. I appreciate it. Do you have socks by chance?” A small foot appeared through the blankets. The sock which had once been white was now wet and grey.

“Oh. Yeah. I’ll get you some… and sandals too.”

They waited for Boba to be out of the room, Padmé sipping the soup. Once they were alone, she turned toward him and managed to lift herself on one elbow. “Did you call them?”

“I gave you my word, and it has barely been ten minutes, your Highness. At least give me a day to find a way to get rid of you,” he replied snidely. “Now, just finish your food, shower and sleep.”

 

*

 

Obi-Wan had been meditating for hours at a time. He was hoping he would manage to bend space and reach his soulmate despite light years separating them. That was probably arrogant of him, but there was little else he could do when everyone else looked for clues in the real world. All he had left to try was this space only open to them. His only link. His only hope.

He had felt pain and fear coming from Padmé. Waves of dark emotions he couldn’t help her deal with, that he couldn’t stop, so far away from her. Holding onto hope was his only recourse.  

He had felt her determination still, her indomitable spirit and stubbornness.

She wasn’t well, but she wasn’t surrendering to despair, and that he could encourage.

Their bond was thin, but he could feed her hope, faith and love. He could send her all of this, help her keep her head up, and wait for the occasion to do more.

It happened without a fuss.

Obi-Wan was alone in the immensity of a starfield. The next moment, she was there, as if she had always been. Contrary to him, she had no corporal form in this spiritual dimension, but she was a silhouette of light.

“Padmé!” He jumped on his feet and was by her side with a simple thought, reaching for her.

The silhouette flickered in surprise, and then she was jumping in her arms. She radiated love and relief at seeing him. “Obi-Wan! Am I dreaming? What is this?”

“You’re probably sleeping. Your mind is more open to spiritual travel in this state as you’re untrained. I have been reaching out, calling for you. I was hoping…” He calmed himself, focusing on the most important. “How are you? Do you know where you are? Where I can find you?”

Her silhouette took a more detailed shape as Padmé became aware of her consciousness. “I escaped my captor, Ventress I think, but I ended up in the ship of Jango Fett — Slave One. I’m with him now. I don’t know on which planet. All I could see was an ocean and rain, and a floating city of metal domes,” she confided hurriedly, eager to tell him everything she could think of, too afraid this would end before she could get help.

“Jango Fett? How?! No, never mind how for now.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “Are you in danger?”

“I got his word that he wouldn’t call the Sith — oh, yes, Ventress is a Sith! Still, I’m not sure about him. He has a son, Boba, who is around seven I think. He gave me food — Ventress didn’t — and has been decent until now. I don’t think this will last for long, though.”

“Okay. Tell me everything from the beginning. Everything you can remember, Padmé. I might get some clues to guess where you are. I’ll find you, I swear.”

In the end, they didn’t manage to pinpoint her position, even when, following his guidance, Padmé shared with him her memories of what she had seen of the planet. Obi-Wan would go to the Archives to work on it.

“Try to find a name or anything else which could help. I’ll meditate again in about twenty hours in hope that you’ll be sleeping then so we can communicate, all right?”  

She nodded in agreement and started to fade. She didn’t have the training to maintain such a connection for long. Before she could disappear, he flooded their bond with love. She replied in kind.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, radiating a love so pure that Ahsoka gasped from the table where she was studying.

“Master?”

He was already standing up and grabbing his robes. “I managed to contact Padmé. She’s on an aquatic planet. I need to go to the Archives to find where.”

“Really?! I’m coming with you!” Ahsoka said, jumping on her feet. “Aquatic you say? Mh… There is Mon Cala…”

“The architecture doesn’t fit.”

“Glee Anselm?”

“Too tropical.”

“Uh…”

“Is that all? I see some revisions won’t go amiss.”

Ahsoka would come to hate every aquatic planet of the galaxy and regret her offer to help with research in the next eight hours, when nothing matched the description given by Padmé. It’s not like you could hide a whole planet from the Jedi, damn it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a translations**  
>  \- _Buir:_ parent  
> \- _Di'kut:_ idiot
> 
> This was a long and action-packed chapter, and I'm quite pleased with it. It required some work though. [Slave One](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Slave_I/Legends) gave me trouble to find how/where Padmé could hide. She shares my opinion about how little sense its design makes (how can you land?! do the pilot seat and controls spin? what the hell?!).


	10. Chapter 10

Padmé woke up in a small bed. Boba’s. He was sleeping with his father. This decision had overjoyed the boy (although he tried not to show it) and was mostly due to Jango’s  distrust of Padmé — it was mutual.

Rubbing her face in an attempt to remove the last traces of sleep (she failed: no matter how long she had slept that night, she was much too tired after at least three days of mistreatment to recover immediately), Padmé thought of the dream she had had. Although it wasn’t a dream, was it? It had been real. She had talked to Obi-Wan. What she had felt was much too vivid to be anything else. She remembered this love encompassing her completely, drowning any trace of fear and worry. It brought a smile to her lips and courage to her heart. She wasn’t alone. She would find a way out off this planet, wherever she was. Obi-Wan was with her, always.

Padmé stood up. She adjusted over her shoulders the too large black shirt she was wearing and grabbed gray sweater and pants. They were ridiculously big on her. She had to fold the hems, and the pants only fit at the waist thanks to an inbuilt belt. She smoothed her hair, combing it with her fingers as best as she could. After the shower she had had last night, she had felt much better, and her hair was no longer looking like a bird’s nest. It fell freely on her shoulders, dull-looking after those dreadful days.  

She was starving and thirsty… again.

Belatedly remembering that this bedroom had an adjoining refresher, she went to relieve herself, wash her face and drink a bit of water. The cupboards had been cleared, except for towels.

Now at least presentable, she went to leave the room but found the door locked. She knocked loudly.

Small footsteps came closer. “You awake? Dad says you can’t leave. Food’s on my desk. Eat whatever, and dad will bring you more later.”

Padmé glanced over her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed the tray. She was still much too weak and fuzzy-minded. Being locked up wasn’t much of a surprise however, and she couldn’t spare the energy to be upset about it. “Could you relay a message to your father, Boba?”

“Sure.”

“Tell him he better find me some toiletries before the voorpak gets feral again.”

The boy burst into laughter and moved away. “I’ll tell him.”

Jango must be aware of her state of health. The food he had chosen was fit for the starved: fruit juice and porridge in large quantity but nothing solid. She ate slowly, her stomach protesting at first. With perseverance and patience, she finished her meal.  

Padmé looked around the bedroom. It was simply furnished and some things had been moved so Boba could continue to use them. Padmé went through the collection of datapads on the shelves with intense focus. One of them might hold a clue to where she was.

Unfortunately, all she could find of interest among the lessons of a seven years old were the basics of learning Mando’a. With nothing better to do, Padmé sat down at the desk and began to learn.

Jango came in a few hours later with food. She was a little surprised to see him out of armor. His light blue shirt and jeans made him look… well… approachable wasn’t the right word, especially not with that scowl… softer, maybe?

He glanced at her datapad and the Mando’a alphabet shown but didn’t comment.

A toilet bag was in the middle of the tray he put on the table, and Padmé offered a polite: “Thank you.”

Jango sat down on the foot of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You’re trouble, your Highness.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not Queen anymore. I’m Padmé,” she replied, reaching for the bag and fishing a comb out of it. She carefully started to disentangle her poor hair.

There was a moment of silence. She looked up from her task to meet Jango’s watchful eyes. As they studied each other, Padmé noticed the small scars on his right cheekbone and above his left eyebrow. His hands, pressed together, were covered with similar little cuts.

“I’ll drop you off on some planet,” he announced. “You’ll do whatever you want there as long as you stay away from me and mine. However, I can’t leave right away so you’ll have to wait a few days.”

“You can drop me off on Naboo,” she offered.

He shook his head. “No Republic world or anywhere I would be caught with a twirl of your little finger.”

“No separatist world then, or any planet held by the Hutt, but a planet where I can communicate easily with the Republic.”

He stood up and leaned against the desk, boxing her in. “You think you have a say?”

“I think that you promised me not to hurt me, and that leaving me somewhere I could be in danger would be a breach of this vow,” she pointed out with her chin raised.

He frowned briefly before he straightened and gathered the breakfast tray. “I’ll think about it. Eat slowly, this is for dinner too.”

The door locked behind him. She didn’t see him again that day.

Admittedly, being locked up in a bedroom with adjoined bathroom was much better than Ventress’ treatment, but Padmé vowed to do _something_ as soon as she had recovered enough to do so.

 

*

 

Boba was getting restless. It had been two nights and a day since Padmé had been locked in his room. He had everything he needed, and he liked sleeping with his father — the bed was large and his _buir_ ’s proximity was comforting. In theory, it shouldn’t bother him much. He should ignore her and focus on his maths before it was time for his piloting lessons in the simulator. Except that there was someone next door who had stood up to his dad and lived, a woman who had fought fiercely and still talked to him kindly, an outsider who had managed to escape a bounty hunter and hide in Slave I… He wanted to talk to her.

Leaving his datapad open on his exercices, Boba went to knock on Padmé… no, _his_ bedroom’s door.

“Yes?”

Boba hesitated and shifted on his feet.

“... Boba? Is that you?”

“Yeah.”

“... Is something the matter?”

“Why did dad let you live?” Boba blurted out finally. This bothered him. He had realized that his father hadn’t answered when he had asked the first time.

“Probably because I’m worth more alive,” she grumbled dismissively.

“No. He won’t give you for the bounty. He promised. Why?”

There was some noise and then the slide of a body against the door. Padmé sounded closer when she replied: “Why are you asking me?”

“He won’t tell me,” Boba grumbled. His father was quite cagey about a lot of things, but he had never brought a stranger in their home before.

Padmé chuckled. “How am I supposed to know what goes through your father’s head when you don’t?”

“What makes you so special? You’re just a girl! A noble, maybe, but _buir_ doesn’t care about that.”

“We’re all special in our one way, Boba.”

He huffed and sat down, back to the door. “That’s a whole load of banta shit.”

“Language,” she disapproved distractingly.

“Most people are just poodoo. They’re weak.”

“I’m sorry you think so. And I disagree. People are a product of many factors. You just happened to have been lucky enough to be raised by a father who teaches you to defend yourself and to stand for yourself. Many don’t have this privilege. That doesn’t mean they’re weak. It means they need help.”

Boba tensed and thought of the thousands of clones who were trained not far from here. His father had told him they were below him. Even the Null-class, the six prototypes adopted by Kal Skirata, and the Alpha-class, the hundred clones who Jango personally trained, were no-one compared to him. His _buir_ had told him so.

“Just because you can fight doesn’t mean you’re special.”

“I agree.”

“You just said—”

“That everyone is special. Yes. Everyone, in their own way, is special, because they’re unique, not because they know how to fight.”

“What if they aren’t?”

“Of course, they are. Even identical twins are—”

“What if they’re clones?” Boba blurted out. He shouldn’t have, he knew he shouldn’t have, but damn it…

“Clones? Well… I’m no expert, but no clones live perfectly identical lives. So, no clones have the same experience and the same mind. Therefore they are unique.”

Boba contemplated this, scrunched his nose and decided he didn’t like this conversation. He stood up and left without a word. When Padmé called after him, he ignored her, focusing again on his maths and then going to his piloting lessons.

The simulators were used at every hour of the day, and the room was full. Boba went to the one he was scheduled at. The previous clone finished his simulation and gave him the seat. Physically, he looked nearly twice as old as Boba. When he didn’t leave immediately, Boba raised disdainful eyebrows at him while adjusting the seat’s height. “What?” he drawled at the insistent stare.

“They changed the software. We are supposed to brief the next one coming. Do you want help with it or do you already know about it?”

Boba stared at the screen. It looked different than usual. He pressed the button usually starting the identification for his simulation program. Nothing happened. Damn. His _buir_ usually told him about details like that, but he hadn’t said anything. He had looked a bit overworked, to be fair. “Tell me,” he demanded.

Outwardly unbothered by Boba’s haughtiness, the clone stepped forward and leaned close to explain the different procedure. Once he was done, he straightened and patted Boba’s shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Boba stared at the hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t feel the need to move away like he usually did. This clone was behaving with him as he did with his _vode_. They never did that. Boba’s clothes clearly showed he was not one of them, and with his size they all guessed that he was Jango’s son. That was usually sufficient for them to be more distant.

“Good flight then,” the clone said before leaving.

“Hey,” Boba called him back, waiting for the other to look over his shoulder before he asked: “What’s your number?”

“CT-7567,” he replied with a wave of his fingers before disappearing.

Boba committed this number to memory, for reference, and then focused on his simulation. He loved piloting. Everything else left his mind.

At least until the end of his simulator time, when he left his seat to find himself face to face with one of the older clones. This one was in full puberty and was going through a growth spurt (Boba knew exactly what he would look like at every stage of his growth, and it wasn’t too bad, he guessed, but then he had always known that his father looked cool).

This one was a CC, a Clone Commander. It showed on his uniform. He didn’t say a word when Boba gave him the seat. The boy was going to do the same as he left, but he stopped in the space between two rows of simulators. Every clone having finished their simulation was explaining to the one starting theirs how to deal with the new software. Boba glanced over his shoulder to see the Commander frown as he pushed the usual button and didn’t get the expected result. If Boba didn’t explain what CT-7567 had told him, the Commander would have to fetch the trainer and be in trouble. Boba wouldn’t be. No-one expected him to play nice with the others, but… it would be mean. Being mean without reason was for the honorless, his father always said.

Sighing, Boba went back and stood beside the Commander, who looked up at him stone-faced. His number was written under his rank on his uniform. CC-1004. One of the first batches.  

“They changed the software,” Boba said stiffly before explaining what to do. He made it quick and to the point, turning around as soon as he was done.

“Thanks, _vod_ ,” the Commander said distractedly at his back.

Boba paused for only a second and wiped any surprise from his expression as he left. No clones had ever called him that. It felt... weird, he decided, but the good kind of weird.

When his father came back in the evening, Boba was staring thoughtfully at the storm outside the window. His idleness was unusual enough that Jango came to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Boba? Is everything alright?”

The boy looked up, squinting. “I think I know why you saved her.”

Jango raised an eyebrow. “Oh, do you?”

“Yeah. Because it was the right thing to do, the honorable thing to do. Anything else, and it would have been mean. We’re bounty hunters, not bullies.”

Jango watched his son, contemplative.

A flash of lightning outlined their profiles.

Jango smiled and cupped Boba’s face, patting his cheek. “Good boy.”

 

*

 

The hum of lightsabers was filling the training room over the light sound of Obi-Wan’s breathing.

Mace watched silently until the younger Jedi finally paused. “Can’t sleep?”

“I’m afraid I have made quite a mess of my sleep schedule in an attempt to contact Padmé,” Obi-Wan admitted easily, straightening and stretching his neck. “And yourself?”

“I’m back from a reception at the Senate.”

“Ah. My sympathies. Are they still jabbering about the assassination attempt on the Chancellor?”

“It’s a reasonable assumption to make.”

Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder with a derisive look. Mace met his eyes calmly before tilting his head in agreement. Reasonable, it may be, but completely untrue. Every Jedi at the birthday party had agreed: Padmé had been the target, and the Chancellor had been in very little danger. Of course, explaining that would bring more questions than they cared for. For the public, Padmé was just an unfortunate collateral victim.

“Have you any news about Lady Naberrie?”

“Yes, we made contact a few hours ago. She doesn’t have any more clues about her whereabouts, apart from ‘outer rim’ thanks to the little she has seen of the stars.”

“Is she well?”

“Recovering. She asked about the Council of Investigation and was happy to hear that Master Billaba was filling in for her. ”

“The position pleases her, although she’d be happy to give it back to its holder,” Mace replied as he stepped forward, his robes folded over his arms. “We have sent news of this Sith, Ventress, to the rest of the Order. With the surveillance images that Master Vos managed to uncover, we’ll be able to keep an eye out for her.”

Obi-Wan nodded, rolling his wrists and the twin blue lightsabers he was holding. Mace’s eyes followed the move.

“Jar’kai?”

“Ahsoka wishes to learn,” Obi-Wan replied distractedly. “She’s not ready yet, of course, but if I’m to teach her then I have to learn first. Master Drallig and Fisto have been helping me in this regard.”

“You could send your padawan directly to Master Drallig,” Mace pointed out. As one of the rare Jedi practicing all forms of lightsaber combats, the instructor had indeed taught many, from Initiates to Masters. “Most masters do when the wishes of their padawan don’t align with their expertise.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Did you?” The idea wasn’t worth being considered for the young Master, who was determined to personally provide anything his padawan needed. It was not a matter of pride. Ahsoka simply deserved nothing less.

Mace’s lips stretched into a small smirk. “My expertise is extensive.”

“Why, Master Windu, are you boasting?” Obi-Wan asked, laughing.

“I’m simply stating a fact.”

“Right,” Obi-Wan drawled. “I think you should rather demonstrate, Master.”

Mace removed his robes, throwing them in a corner, and unclasped his lightsaber from his belt, calling another from the weapon rack on a wall. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Eager, are you? How annoying was that reception?”

“A certain amount. How worried are you for your soulmate?”

“A certain amount.” He felt better now that he had a way to communicate with Padmé, especially knowing she was out of Ventress’ clutches and in a better state than before, but the situation was still far from ideal. Ahsoka had called it quits regarding aquatic planets, focusing on her own studies instead, but he was still looking, and he didn’t understand how nothing matched. It was quite frustrating.  

Mace’s lightsabers ignited, purple and blue. “Let’s focus on here and now, shall we?”

“By all means.”  

 

*

 

Two days after her arrival on ‘Wherever-this-was’, Padmé found her way into the maintenance ducts. It was risky, but she didn’t trust Jango to drop her off somewhere safe. She needed to find more information on where she was so she could give it to Obi-Wan. This was her best chance to get out of here, she was sure of it. She would just look around, eavesdrop a bit, and then get back to her room before her absence could be noticed.

She would have to change out of her borrowed outfit and into her white ensemble when she came back: the dirt rubbing on the fabric as she crawled in ducts would clue Jango in. She would wash everything in the sink and pretend she was just fussy about clean clothes if they asked — considering their opinion of her, they would easily believe it.

The duct coming from her bathroom ended in a wider space for the circulation of maintenance droids, where she could move bent in half. There were more droids there, mostly the basic MSE droids programmed with such basic softwares that they didn’t notice her. Like the mouses they were nicknamed after, she simply had to get out of their way when they couldn’t go around her and they were happy.

She carefully kept track of the way she went, focusing on points of reference for the trip back.

A questioning whistle made her freeze. She turned to face a T3 droid. This one had programming more advanced, closer to R2-D2’s.

“Oh. Hello there. I am… playing hide and seek with Jango Fett. Don’t tell him — or anyone — I’m here,” she said with a finger to her lips.

The T3 agreed with a beep, and she moved out of his way so he could get to work.

“Oh, wait,” she called before he could disappear. “Do you know where I can find a communication center, please?” Nothing was marked down there.

The T3 pointed left, then right, center, and again left.

“Thank you!”

Following the directions, Padmé ended up in a duct, again. She reached a vent and looked through. She could hear people talking, but it was a language unknown to her with sonorities which sounded non-human. She had to strain to catch sight of them. They were tall with pale skin and a very long neck. She had never seen one of them before. She tried to commit their physiology to memory. Since they all looked the same, they were probably the natives. This might help Obi-Wan.

They didn’t look ready to move. Padmé went to leave. This would have to be enough: the priority was to get back to her room undetected. She might try another day, but she couldn’t leave for long since Boba liked to talk to her when he was bored. From what she had gathered from his schedule, he currently had lessons outside of the apartment. She only had between one to two hours of freedom and, although she didn’t have a watch, she was probably past half an hour.

A man stepped into the room. From the little she could see with his back turned to her, he was wearing white armor a bit similar in build to Jango’s. He saluted the aliens like a soldier, held out a datapad and said in Basic: “Report from Jango Fett, Sir.”

That definitely sounded military, and that voice… was a cross of Jango’s and Boba’s. Did the bounty hunter have an older son? A nephew, maybe?

The soldier was dismissed. Padmé crawled back and took a turn in the duct over the hallway. She felt like she needed to know more about him. If she could find another vent… When she reached one, she didn’t see anyone and thought at first that the soldier had already left, but she caught a conversation in Basic:

“So?”

“They ignored me, like always. Why did you expect anything different?”

“I don’t know. Jango looked tense when he gave you the order. I thought the long necks might be planning something.”

Damn it, they sounded so similar! Why?

“Word’s that he has been tense since he came back. I don’t think it has anything to do with us, Rex.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. It’s not like he usually cares about anyone else than the Alpha clones unless we mess up. Come on, Cody. Let’s go to the mess before they notice we’re late.”

Padmé nearly hit her head against the top of the duct.

Clones! Clones?!

Boba had talked about clones. Was this a coincidence? Unlikely! There was something extremely fishy going on here. She needed to tell Obi-Wan everything. He might be able to make more sense of it than her.

 

*

 

Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide. “Clones of Jango Fett?!”

“My reaction, exactly,” Padmé admitted with humor. She had reached a better control of herself in this spiritual dimension and was now able to completely mimic her body and facial expressions.

Obi-Wan was holding her hands distractedly. “That’s a worrying idea, but it comforts us in the opinion that you’re not in Republic space. Cloning of a sentient being is illegal and highly complex. I’ll look into those non-humans you describe. I’m sorry we haven’t made much progress, but several Jedi teams in the Outer Rim are ready to move as soon as we have a location,” he promised. “Did Fett talk again about jettisoning you?”

“No. He seems rather busy. Boba has been the one to bring me lunch today, and Jango didn’t say a word when he brought dinner. I think he trusts me enough not to hurt his son, but he wants to get rid of me one way or another.” And if he realized she was leaving her room… well, she suspected she would be immediately dumped on the nearest rock with oxygen. “I’ll try to find more tomorrow.”

“Be careful. How do you feel, Padmé?”

“ _Haryc b'aalyc_.”

Obi-Wan blinked and then raised an eyebrow. “You’re drunk?”

“What? No. I’m tired and emotional. Isn’t it what this means?”

“Well… yes, in the literal sense, but it’s more often a euphemism for drunk,” Obi-Wan explained, amused.

Padmé snorted. “Wonderful. I won’t be fluent in Mando’a anytime soon, even with nothing else to do than learn, it seems.”

Obi-Wan chuckled and squeezed her fingers. “It’s a simple language regarding grammar, but it has quite a number of double meanings. It’s meant to be learnt orally, in context, rather than through written studies,” he explained.

“That’s how you learnt, with Satine, during your mission.” He had told her about his long mission on Mandalore and his first love. While she didn’t give in to jealousy, she could admit that she was envious of the Duchess of Mandalore for the year-long protection. Padmé would have appreciated the opportunity to have Obi-Wan’s company for longer than his mission on Naboo had been.

“Yes, and I picked more colorful expressions afterwards, through missions around bounty hunters,” Obi-Wan explained, oblivious.

“I can’t wait to be able to understand all the ways Fett is cursing my name...”

 

*

 

“ _Or'dinii_ …”

Oh, Padmé knew that one. It meant ‘fool’. She expected worse.

Jango was just getting started. He cursed some more, in Mando’a that she didn’t understand but didn’t seem to be complimentary.

Padmé winced and interrupted: “Yes, yes, I get it. Could you release me, you oaf? You’re hurting me.”

Jango shook her violently by the arm he was holding. “I ought to throttle you, woman.”

From what Padmé could guess, Boba had probably checked on her during the afternoon. When she failed to answer, he had discovered that she had left by the air vent. When she had come back, she had immediately been grabbed by Jango. He was livid.

“If you’re going to, at least tell Boba to leave,” Padmé replied, glaring at Jango and spreading her feet to keep her balance.

The father glanced over his shoulder to see his son in the doorway, watching with a mixed expression. Although he could be as difficult to read as his father, Boba seemed slightly apprehensive.

“Boba. Go to Skirata.”

The boy took a step back, hesitated but then nodded and left.

Jango threw Padmé on her bed. “You had one job to do: stay karking put!”

“And wait for you to decide to dump me on an asteroid?! No, thanks!” She stood up immediately, refusing to be cornered.

He towered over her. “Did anyone see you?”

“No.”

“If you think you’ll find an ally to save you, you’re deeply mistaken.”

Padmé raised her chin defiantly. “Oh, really? So the army of the Republic and the Jedi won’t help me?”

He caught her by the neck and shoved her against the wall. “What did you see?” he asked with a low, threatening voice.

“Hundreds of clones of you training in the name of the Republic.” She had been incredulous, seeing those armored men fighting outside in the downpour and launching themselves in battle with screams of “For the Republic!”

Jango gritted his teeth.

“Care to explain?”

“No.” He reached for something on his belt and flipped her around to tie her hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you what you want: dumping you on the nearest asteroid. Oxygen optional.”

She dug her feet uselessly, Jango pulling and pushing her relentlessly toward the door. “You’re a kriffing hypocrite, Fett. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m pretty sure there is no honor in whatever you’re doing.”

“I'm just a simple man trying to make my way in the universe, your Highness.”

“ _Osik_.”

Jango didn’t seem to appreciate her calling his bullshit in Mando’a. He pulled her against his chest, hissing in her ear: “Don’t take it personally. You’re just collateral damage, your Highness.”

“I’ll give you collateral damage,” Padmé thought angrily. The next time he pushed her forward, instead of resisting she went with the movement. It propelled her inside the living room, toward the back of the couch. She rolled over it and landed on the other side. With a turning kick, she sent the glass of water resting on the coffee table toward Jango’s face, who dodged calmly.

“You want to do this again, really?” he drawled in annoyance.

“I won the last time,” she pointed out.

“In your dreams, _jai'galaar_.”

“Should I take as a compliment the fact that you’re comparing me to an avian predator when you used to call me a pet?” she asked while jumping over the coffee table toward the kitchen to dodge his attempt to grab her.

Before Jango could answer, the door of the apartment opened.

“Boba, I told you to—” Jango stopped when he caught sight of Kal Skirata in the doorway, Boba hidden behind him. Technically speaking, the boy had obeyed his father’s orders.

Skirata raised an eyebrow at seeing Padmé try to cut her ties with a kitchen knife. “Something wrong, Jango?”

“Nothing which concerns you. Leave and take Boba with you. I’ll be absent for a day. Stop damaging my knife, woman.”

Padmé replied with a few sharp words of Mando’a. Skirata burst into laughter, Boba widened his eyes in wonder, and Jango stared at her with raised palms.

“Where the hell did you learn that? That’s not in Boba’s datapads.”

Obi-Wan had taught it to her last night, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Kriff you,” she said before dropping the knife with a hiss. She had cut her wrist instead of the plastic ties.

“Would you stop it?” Jango sighed as he stepped forward.

Padmé kicked a stool toward him. He stopped it with the sole of his boot.

“Are you quite done?”

“I’ll be done when you’ll stop trying to kill me!”

Kal Skirata frowned. “Jango…”

“I won’t kill her,” Jango replied with a sigh. “I just want to get rid of her. And yes, you damn woman, I’ll find you somewhere with oxygen and where you can contact your karking boyfriend.”

“Why couldn’t you say that from the start?” she asked in exasperation. She stopped trying to evade him.

“Because you pissed me off, and the other way was particularly tempting,” he replied and made her turn around so he could check her wrists. “Great. You need bacta.”

“Your fault.”

“You were the one playing with sharp blades, _ad_ ,” he pointed out while getting a bacta patch out of the first-aid kit on his belt.

“The child would kick you in the _shebs_ if you didn’t have armor.”

“That’s the point of armor, yes,” Jango replied as he put on the patch. He was distracted by his comm beeping. “Not a word, your Highness,” he warned her before activating the comm. “Jango.”

“Mr. Fett. A Jedi has requested authorization to land. He wishes to speak to you,” a non-human voice said softly.

Padmé looked up, wide-eyed. Jango squinted at her with a pissed expression. “Did he give his name?”

“Master Dooku.”

Not who Padmé had been hoping for, but even if Obi-Wan had managed to locate her he would probably need much more time to arrive. Dooku must have been nearby, and that was already great news.

Jango confirmed he would meet the Jedi and cut the communication after getting the number of the landing pad. “How did you contact them?” he asked her. “Do I have to go through everyone in communication to know who failed at their duty?”

“No.” Padmé didn’t wish for anyone to pay for something they hadn’t done.

“Am I supposed to think this is a coincidence?”

“Well, no. Master Dooku will want to see me.”

With an exasperated sigh, Jango removed the ties. “You’re really more trouble than you’re worth.” He pushed her toward the door with a hand on the small of her back, but this time he wasn’t shoving her around.

Rubbing her wrists, mindful of the patch, Padmé gladly went out of the apartment, eager to see a friendly face. Boba was staring at her with calculating eyes while Kal seemed to think all of this extremely entertaining. They came along.

“Why are you here, Skirata?” Jango asked.

“Oh, indulge me. This is the best distraction we have gotten around here since you rearranged Priest’s face.”

Padmé turned around. “What?”

“Priest’s his last name. He’s not a clergyman, Trouble, hold your horses,” Jango said dismissively.

“He’s an asshole,” Boba added helpfully.

“Oh.” Padmé decided not to ask.

The landing pad wasn’t far, probably chosen for its proximity to Jango’s rooms.

When they stepped outside, a small courier had already landed. Rain had dwindled to a drizzle, but it was still cold outside.

The access ramp opened to let down Master Dooku, protected by a brown cloak.

Padmé walked quickly to him, unable to jog due to the much too large sandals she was wearing (she had lost them when rolling over the couch but put them back on before leaving the apartment).

Dooku’s somber expression thawed when he saw her. He opened his arms for a welcoming embrace she accepted (in part because it protected her from the rain and offered her warmth). “My dear, dear, child. You had us all terribly worried.”

“The worry was mutual, Master Dooku. I’m so glad to see you. How did you arrive so fast?”

“If you recall, I was scheduled to leave on an investigation in the Outer Rim the day after the party. As such, I was in the quadrant when Obi-Wan told me about the information you gathered.” He looked around them, contemplative. “I knew of this planet. Kamino, as remote as it is, is renowned for its cloning, and fortunately close enough to Subterrel, where I was inspecting the mines.”

“Kamino? I have never heard of it.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. It’s located in an extragalactic star system and shown on very few star-charts. You’re far from home, my dear.” He held her by the shoulders and commented, disapproving: “Your host failed to provide appropriate clothing.”

“There is apparently no-one of my stature and no tailor around here.”

“So I see. You may be able to find something more appropriate… or at least definitely warmer in my belongings. Go ahead, use anything you need,” he told her while gently pushing her toward his ship. She suspected he wanted her somewhere he could protect her.

“Thank you.” Her attention drifted toward the Mandolarians waiting by the door. Dooku would talk to them. “They’re honorable, Master Dooku, but you might want to ask them about ‘the Army of the Republic and the Jedi’.”

Dooku raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Indeed? I’ll certainly ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a translations**  
>  \- _Buir:_ parent  
> \- _Vod/vode:_ brother/brothers  
> \- _Or'dinii:_ fool  
> \- _Jai'galaar:_ shriek-hawk, avian predator from Mandalore (comparatively, in the precedent chapter Jango called her voorpak, which is not mando'a but the name of a small animal often kept as pet)  
> \- _Ad:_ child  
> \- _Shebs:_ backside, butt
> 
> The charming Padmé/Jango relationship wasn't exactly planned. It happened... ^^' Skirata thinks it's extremely entertaining. I hope you agree!  
> Obi-Wan and Padmé will be reunited in the next chapter. In the meantime, let me know what you liked (clones? clones!)!


	11. Chapter 11

Wearing traditional Jedi garb too big for her, Padmé felt like she was ensconced in a warm blanket of comfort and playing dress-up at the same time. While the clothes didn’t make the Jedi, there was something powerful in the game of appearances with which she was intimately familiar after years as Queen Amidala. A few hours ago, she had been a prisoner of Jango Fett wearing messy clothes, and she had felt… lost. Now she looked like Master Dooku in brown robes (and a tight, very necessary belt), and she felt like she had managed to borrow some of his confidence and calm along with it.

Until now.

Padmé tried to keep a deep and even breathing while Dooku and she looked down at the biggest mess hall she had ever seen. A mess filled with clones of Jango kriffing Fett.

“How many are they?” Dooku asked much more calmly than she could hope to be.

“One hundred thousands are currently ready for action, with more than half a million underway,” Lama Su, Prime Minister of Kamino, explained proudly. “We expect to double that number in less than two years.” He was showing them the Grand Army of the Republic like one would show their collection of pets.

Behind their guide’s back, Padmé turned wide eyes toward Master Dooku who tilted his head in silent agreement with the sentiment. Walking on a glass bridge above thousands of identical men and boys, all dressed similarly, was surreal. The Kaminoans’ pride was just as much unsettling.

“Quite impressive, Prime Minister,” Dooku said, unruffled. “And how many has Master Sifo-Dyas commissioned exactly?”

Padmé had gathered that Dooku had personally known the Jedi who had supposedly ordered the clones, but she couldn’t question him about it until they had some privacy, which left her with a hundred questions on how and most of all why?

“A million has currently been paid for. There has been discussions of two more.”

“I see.”

“We’ll need to see the original contract,” Padmé spoke up. When heads turned toward her, she gave a soft smile and tucked her hands in the sleeves of her oversized robes like she had seen Obi-Wan do so many times. It made him seem unthreatening. “Bureaucracy, I’m afraid.”

“Certainly,” Lama Su agreed easily. “I’ll arrange it.”

“Thank you. And the progress reports...?”

“Are always at the disposal of the High Council.”

“Perfect. Is it possible to talk to some of the clones?”

“Certainly. Mister Fett can help you with this.”

Fett was champing at the bit a few steps behind them, but he bowed without a word and gestured for the Jedi (and Jedi associate) to follow him.

Once away from the Kaminoan, Padmé used this opportunity to ask Jango, incredulous: “How could you do it?!”

“I was paid.”

Padmé breathed in deeply to keep her anger and remarks contained. She needed to remind herself she was talking to a bounty hunter. Getting angry about what he did for money would be pointless. “Who hired you?”

“You heard Lama Su.”

“Yes, but not you. I find it hard to believe that the man who associated with Sith attempting to kill me would work for a Jedi.”

“I don’t discriminate. Business is business.”

Padmé looked toward Dooku with an exasperated expression.

He took over. “How was Master Sifo-Dyas?”

“Pardon?”

“When you talked to him. How was he? Describe him to me,” Dooku asked like it was the easiest task. And for someone who had met Sifo-Dyas, surely it would be.

Jango stayed quiet.

Vindicated, Padmé crossed her arms. “You never met him. You never even talked to him. Again, who hired you?”

“Was it a Sith?” Dooku asked when Jango failed to reply.

Jango opened a door leading out of the bridge and down some stairs. Apparently, silence was all they would get. Padmé’s steps sounded loud in this silence, much louder than the men’s, but she felt she could be forgiven considering she was wearing boots several sizes too big. The two pairs of socks and tight laces didn’t change much the fact that she was swimming in those shoes at every step, but at least it was better than giant sandals.

They attracted attention as they stepped into the mess hall. The nearest clones watched them from the corner of their eyes but outwardly stayed focus on their meal.

“Commander,” Jango called.

A clone — looking no more than sixteen standard years, at best — stood up from the closest table and stepped forward at Jango’s beckoning. The bounty hunter crossed his arms and left it at that, not bothering with introductions in a petty show of recalcitrance. Padmé rolled her eyes at him and offered a pleasant expression to the clone as she said:

“Hello. I am Padmé Naberrie and this is Master Dooku from the Jedi Order. What’s your name?”

“CC-2224, Sir!” The clone replied, standing at attention and staring above Padmé’s shoulder.

Despite all her training in self-control, Padmé couldn’t help but twitch at the answer and everything it implied. Choosing to ignore the way he addressed her for now, she focused on the most important part and mouthed at Jango: “Tell me they have names.”

Jango didn’t react.

Padmé breathed in deeply to calm her annoyance. “Do you have another name, Commander?” she tried gently. It wasn’t his fault if he had been raised in less than stellar conditions. Still, when she had eavesdropped, she had heard names, not numbers, she was sure of it.

“Sir?” CC-2224 replied hesitantly.

“My memory isn’t what it used to be anymore, Commander,” Dooku intervened smoothly. “Names are usually easier to remember than numbers.”

There was worry in CC-2224’s eyes. Padmé turned toward Jango, ordering him to leave them with a sharp gesture of her hand.

“No,” the bounty hunter replied firmly.

“Either leave or stop being a hindrance, Mister Fett. Make up your mind,” Padmé demanded, exasperated. Usually, she would have never talked like this in an official capacity, but diplomacy would be wasted on Fett, especially after days spent sniping at each other.

Jango sighed and uncrossed his arms, relaxing his posture. “You can answer freely, 2224. There won’t be any punishment.”

“... It’s Cody, Sir.”

Padmé gave him an encouraging smile. It was good to see they had enough individuality to choose a name for themselves… Wait a minute. Cody? She had heard him in the ducts! “It’s nice to meet you, Cody,” she said genuinely. “Master Dooku and I have a few questions if you have some time to spare?”

“Of course, Sir. I’d be happy to help.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at Dooku who gave her the go ahead with a tilt of his head. “May I ask: how old are you?”

“I was decanted seven years and four months ago, Sir.”

The word ‘decanted’ made her pause, and she held back a wince. “As I understand, you have twice the natural growth rate, so that would make you the equivalent of fourteen to fifteen standard years?”

“Sixteen,” Jango corrected. “The clones are decanted at a later stage of development than natural babies. Around the stage of an eleven months infant.”  

This bothered Padmé more than she could express. While it was logical from the Kaminoan’s point of view — a young infant was heavy maintenance and learned very slowly, it was not cost-effective — it was one more thing the clones had been denied. Children were precious in Naboo’s culture. Their child care was one of the best in the Republic. And this… this was so far from it, that it was starting to become too much for her.

Master Dooku must have recognized it. He took over.

 

*

 

An hour later, Jango was leading them to the quarters that Dooku and Padmé would share, just a few hallways away from the bounty hunter’s apartment if Padmé wasn’t completely lost (she had a rather good sense of orientation, but this artificial town of domes was unlike anything she had lived in before).

“Boba is a clone, isn’t he?” she asked. “The age matches and he looks exactly like the young clones, but he doesn’t have the accelerated growth, does he?”

“Boba is my son,” Jango replied shortly.

“You kept one for you,” Dooku concluded thoughtfully. “One to raise as you wish, without worrying about a mother. Convenient. Practical.” At Padmé’s indignant stare, he added: “I have to recognize that from a perfectly theoretical point of view, cloning has advantages, my dear.”

“At what cost?!” she replied.

“Mass production is, of course, problematical, but a simple clone like the son of Mister Fett…”

“Don’t drag Boba in your arguments. He’s not a ‘simple clone’, he’s my son,” Jango butted in. He was getting used to the debates the two of them had every other step of the tour. Dooku played the devil’s advocate for this cloning project quite well... Of course, he always played devil’s advocate well.

“And what, pray tell, is the difference between your son and the other clones, apart from the fact that you chose him?” Padmé asked, still unable to understand how he could volunteer for such a project and stay indifferent to the fact that millions of copies of himself were created to be used like… like slaves, there were no better words that she could find.

Jango stopped in front of a door and opened it with a code. When he turned around to face them, he met her eyes, unbothered by her judgemental look. “I chose him. He’s my _ad’ika_ and I’m his _buir_. The others aren’t. That’s it. That’s enough. Now, these are your rooms. You need anything, ask the droids. Good night.” He left without waiting for their acknowledgement.

In a huff, Padmé stepped inside their rooms without a reply. Dooku followed more sedately with an amused tilt of his lips.

“I didn’t know it was possible to get under your skin like so, my dear.”

Padmé stopped in her appraisal of the rooms (it was rather similar to Jango’s but looked bare) and considered this observation with all the seriousness it deserved. “I didn’t know either,” she admitted. “He is just... Urgh. Can you believe he doesn’t see the problem in what he has done?!”

“It’s a different way of thinking than what you are used to,” Dooku admitted while checking that the droids had brought every bag he needed. “There are many reasons Mandolarians have been traditional enemies of the Jedi. Among others, they care little about the opinions of non-Mandolarians. Your anger is pointless. You won’t change his mind this way.”

“I know, I know,” she admitted while sitting down to remove her boots — her feet hurt in this borrowed shoes. “But how can he make such a distinction between his son and his clones? I don’t understand!”

“Mandolarians put more importance into adoption than blood ties, I believe.”

Padmé frowned, deciding she needed to research Mandolarian culture. She also needed some rest. She was letting her emotions rule her tongue. She had been Queen of Naboo for eight years. She was an experienced diplomat. She was better than this. She was also deeply tired, she realized, as the energy brought by righteous indignation left her.

“Would you care to join me for some meditation, my dear?” Dooku offered. His experience as a diplomat and teacher had shown today. Without him, Padmé would have crumbled more than once. She was extremely thankful for his support.

“I would like that, Master Dooku,” she admitted gratefully. According to the Jedi way, it would help her to calm her troubled mind.

 

*

 

The next day, Qui-Gon Jinn and Anakin Skywalker arrived in the late afternoon. They were greeted at the exit of their ship by an exasperated Dooku.

“You were told not to come by the High Council, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon turned toward his apprentice with raised eyebrows. “Were we?”

“I can’t recall, Master,” Anakin replied with an innocent expression.

“You are a terrible example,” Dooku sighed before waving a hand in defeat. “Tell me you at least finished your previous mission.”

“Of course.”

“Very well then, come along. Let’s get out of this rain.”

“How is Padmé, Master?” Anakin asked as they followed him inside the drier hallways.

“Eager to get some new clothes and incensed by Jango Fett, but true to herself.”

“Was she hurt?”

“That is not for me to answer, young man,” Dooku replied, but it was an answer in itself, and Anakin pursed his lips in displeasure.

“Did Fett flee?”

“We were expecting him to, but no. We believe he may have received orders from whoever hired him. What kind of orders, that’s the question.”

“And you left Padmé alone in those conditions?” Qui-Gon asked in surprise.

Dooku snorted. “She’s perfectly capable of standing up to Fett for the few minutes it would require me to come to her help, I assure you. Those two have a… fascinating relationship which involves throwing metaphorical and real daggers to each other’s head… occasionally stools and anything else appropriate from her retelling.”

Anakin made a face which implied he had difficulties to imagine it, but Qui-Gon chuckled, remembering how active the Queen had been during the battle of Theed.

“Now, since both of you weren’t planned, you haven’t been privy to my report to the High Council and Obi-Wan, so let me resume the delicate situation we are in,” Dooku said before launching into an explanation of the Kaminoan’s cloning.

“An army?” Qui-Gon repeated, smoothing his beard. “For what goal?”

“An excellent question,” Dooku agreed.

“You were friend with Sifo-Dyas, weren’t you? Before he disappeared.”

“I was. We agreed that the Dark side was growing, and we had talked about a possible war, but an army of clones?” Dooku shook his head and sighed. “I fail to see what he had in mind exactly here. Even if a war is coming, who is to say when and against what kind of forces? This is… He must have known something else, something we don’t, which would also explain his disappearance and his death.” Dooku had been the one to feel his death after years of Sifo-Dyas’ disappearance. Yoda had later confirmed it when he had been unable to detect Sifo-Dyas’ presence in the Force during his meditations. The body had never been found. “He was an adept of the Unifying Force and often had visions. I can only suspect this stems from one.”

Qui-Gon hesitated at the troubled expression shown by his Master. For someone who disagreed a lot with the High Council, Dooku was an example of the Jedi’s tenets regarding the lack of passion and outward serenity: he rarely showed what he really thought and felt, unless it served a purpose. This had always been an issue between the two of them. Qui-Gon believed in expressing your emotions, for your own mental health and the benefit of others.

Qui-Gon raised a hand to squeeze his Master’s shoulder. “We will clear this up, Master.”

Dooku turned surprised eyes toward his former apprentice. His frown cleared into a smile, and he patted the strong hand on his shoulder. “We will.”

They arrived at the apartment lent to the Jedi and stepped inside.

“What did the High Council say?” Anakin asked after looking around.

“We don’t know enough yet for any decision to be made. They tasked Padmé with studying the original contract made by Sifo-Dyas. Hopefully, this will give us more information. I was waiting for Obi-Wan to question Jango Fett.”

“We can help,” Anakin offered eagerly.

Dooku shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, but, as Qui-Gon pointed out, it might be a good idea for someone to stay with Padmé.”

“When will Obi-Wan arrive?”

“Tomorrow.”

 

*

 

The next day, early in the morning, Anakin was still bleary-eyed and staring into the bottom of his caf mug when he went to knock at Padmé’s bedroom door.

Before he could touch the panel, it opened in front of him and a whirlwind passed him by so fast that he barely had the reflex to move his cup out of the way so it wouldn’t spill on him.

“Wha-what was that?” he mumbled, staring at the open door of their apartment.

“Padmé,” Qui-Gon replied from his seat at the kitchen table.

“I take it Obi-Wan must have arrived,” Dooku concluded without looking up from the toast he was covering with green jam (it was bittersweet and weird, Anakin had decided).

Obi-Wan was indeed lowering his starfighter on a landing pad when the nearest door to the Kaminoan complex opened and Padmé ran in his direction. Obi-Wan had felt her since he had entered the system, steady and warm, closer than she had been in a week, which had soothed him considerably. Their bond had reopened eagerly with an outpour of relief coming from both of them. It was overwhelming, and Obi-Wan was relying on his astromech for most of the landing procedure.

“Finish this for me, Arfour,” he asked as he opened the canopy and pulled himself out of the cockpit.

He jumped down and landed in front of Padmé with a graceful swish of his robes.

The next second he had an armful of soulmate.

Padmé had jumped in his arms, throwing herself around his neck, clinging, and he had no other choice than to twirl to compensate.

She was shaking, and the relief had taken a more desperate tone. She had held herself together with pure stubbornness, keeping the shock of this whole week at bay until she could confidently lean on someone to go through it.

Obi-Wan held her tight. “I’m here,” he whispered, outloud and telepathically. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.” He wrapped her in love and serenity. His own worry had been immediately soothed by her presence, allowing him to share the resulting calm and confidence with her.

She settled down. Her shudders subsided into shivers which slowly disappeared altogether. Obi-Wan kept her flush against himself, rubbing her back for comfort.  

“Why don’t we go inside?” Obi-Wan offered. This planet truly had an awful climate. Padmé hadn’t exaggerated about the rain. “Get a warm cup of tea? If there is any around here…”

“Clothes?” Padmé requested in a murmur.

“Ah, yes. Just a moment.” Obi-Wan kissed Padmé’s hair and went to fetch the bags he had brought. “Ahsoka asked Sabé to pack them for you.” (When Obi-Wan had asked his padawan, she had pointed to her own clothes skeptically and said: “Do I look like someone who knows what a former Queen wears?” So, Sabé had been needed.) “I hope there is everything you need.”

“Where is Ahsoka?” Padmé murmured, her voice weak but steady.

“The mission was possibly too risky for a fresh padawan. I left her on Coruscant.” To her great disapproval. “She’s eager to hear about you.”

They walked to the apartment, hand in hand.

When he stepped inside, Obi-Wan did a double take at the sight of Qui-Gon and Anakin. “Weren’t you two told to stay away?”

“The communication bugged,” Qui-Gon replied serenely.

Obi-Wan shook his head in exasperation and passed by the two rebels to follow Padmé and drop the bags in her room. The door closed behind him, allowing them some privacy.

She sat on the bed. She looked small, buried in Dooku’s clothes, and fragile with a vulnerable expression. Her hair had lost some of its usual shine and her skin lacked color. Without any kind of make-up at hand, she couldn’t hide the shadows under her eyes.

Obi-Wan went to sit by her side, put an arm around her waist and his hand over hers, caressing them tenderly. She leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder, and breathed in his familiar and comforting scent.

“I missed you,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

“And I, you.”

Her fingers were shaking under his, and his thumb gently stroke her knuckles.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” he whispered before kissing her forehead. “How are you?”

“Better.”

“Would you show me?” When she hesitated, he insisted: “Please, sweetheart. Knowing you, you didn’t let anyone see.” She wouldn’t have let Jango touch her, and she didn’t have that kind of relationship with Dooku (theirs was too intellectual and respectful for any kind of intimacy).

Slowly, she removed her clothes, one by one. Her injuries had started to fade, but the bruises and lightning burns were still visible to an attentive eye. Obi-Wan pursed his lips but didn’t comment, going to his bag to take a small jar out of it.

“I brought you some balm to help. May I?”

She nodded, and he kneeled between her legs. Gently, he rubbed the healing salve on the imprint of a boot over her abdomen, as well as on the lighting trees spreading over her chest and down her arms. He had to climb on the bed to do the same for the boot imprint on her back. Padmé was shaking in relief at the soothing feeling on her abused skin. She had gritted her teeth these last days each time her injuries hurt, getting used to the pain.

Once he was done, Obi-Wan leaned forward to kiss her bare shoulder. Padmé tilted her head, encouraging the touch, and he kissed along her neck to her ear, nuzzling the soft skin when she sighed in pleasure.

“Obi…”

“Tonight, my love,” he promised, understanding the request in her voice, the need reaching him through their bond, “anything you want. For now, did you eat breakfast yet?” When she shook her head, he hummed and stood up. “Dress and join us then. Take your time. I’ll be just next door.”

He left her to change.

The three other Jedi were finishing breakfast. Qui-Gon poured a cup of tea for his former padawan. Obi-Wan accepted it gratefully, along with the squeeze of his shoulder. Their eyes met, a hint of concern showing in the blue of Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan gave a faint smile of reassurance. The oldest relaxed somewhat but with a raise of an eyebrow indicating that they would talk later.

“We were lucky you knew of this planet, Master Dooku,” Obi-Wan said, smoothing his beard.

“Was it really removed from the Archives?” Qui-Gon asked, frowning.

“Entirely. It only became obvious when Master Dooku gave me the name and I couldn’t find it.”

“Jocasta must have been livid,” Dooku commented with a lopsided smile.

“She was in denial that such a planet existed until I told her you had personally visited it in the past.”

“With Sifo-Dyas, right?” Qui-Gon said.

Dooku sighed. “Yes. I know what you think, and I agree that only a Jedi could have compromised the Archives like this. I can’t imagine it from Sifo-Dyas, but then...” He gestured at the cloning facility around them in dismay.

Silence settled for a few minutes as they ate breakfast.

When Padmé came out of her room, the robes she had borrowed from Dooku were gone, replaced by [a black and red pantsuit](http://images.vogue.it/imgs/sfilate/ai-11-12-pre-collezioni/alexander-mcqueen/collezione/Base/alexandermcqueen_004.jpg) which looked like stylish armor — and, knowing Amidala’s wardrobe, probably was. Her hair was in a side braid falling on her left shoulder. She looked ready to jump into battle, and Obi-Wan suspected a pistol was hidden in her boots.  

Obi-Wan poured her a cup of tea and added sugar. She sat by his side on the couch, close enough to touch and share warmth.

“I studied the contract,” she told them. “I believe we need to talk to the Council.”

 

*

 

Jango was watching out of the windows of his apartment. The starfighter brought by the Jedi was visible in the background. The astromech taking care of it in the absence of its master was rolling around like an ant.

Pensive, Jango was tapping on the helmet he had used to watch Padmé and her Jedi’s reunion with the built-in zoom.

Kenobi. That was the one they were waiting for. Now that he was here, the Jedi would make their move. In the game of blind chess they were playing against the Sith, unaware of all the pieces or their own participation to the game, it was the Jedis’ turn.

Maul had been pissed when Jango had told him the Jedi had discovered Kamino two years before planned. Jango had been able to put the whole blame on Ventress, but he wished he had a good excuse to get out of here, away from the turmoil he could feel brewing. The hooded Sith Master had decided otherwise. Wait to see how the Jedi would react, he had ordered. Their next move would decide the new phase of the game.

Jango was no seer, but when you were as good as he, you had to be able to predict the next move of both enemies and allies, or at least guess their options. This could go two ways: an open conflict —the inevitable war starting early— or… or something else, something he couldn’t define. Some form of cold war, maybe?

His money — if he gambled, which he never did unless he was sure to win — was on the first option anyway, and he didn’t want Boba to be in the middle of a battlefield. Mandolarians didn’t step in battle before their eighth birthday, at the very least.

“‘Morning, dad.”

Drawn out of his thoughts, Jango looked over his shoulder at his son stepping into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. The father put his helmet down and went to prepare breakfast.

“Slept well?” he asked while tousling his son’s hair on the way.

Boba grunted, pouted and climbed on his stool. “Yeah.”

“Is your bag ready?”

“Yeah… Are we going to leave, dad?”

“Maybe.”

“Because of the Jedi?”

“Because the Jedi bring trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outfit in this chapter is from Alexander McQueen. You can find it [here on tumblr](https://lunaemoth.tumblr.com/post/115929015257/themiseducationofb-people-will-stare-make-it).
> 
> This ends the second phase of this story. Now to the third... let's see if Jango wins his bet or not.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at lunaemoth.tumblr.com


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